The Importance of Always Wearing a Hat
by Nyx6
Summary: While driving through Canada to get to a show, Dean and Roman end up caught in a blizzard and one disaster leads to another. A grouchy Ryback doesn't help either and Roman is forced to take desperate measures. Strong Ambreigns bromance, bit of drama, bit of fun. Rated for swears.
1. Chapter 1

**So I seem to have this love of roughing Dean up a bit. Not too much. I guess we all have our kinks. Anyway, this is basically just an exercise in bromance. No real plot just best friend love. Ryback's here too because every tale needs an antagonist and while I'm sure he's actually a lovely fella, it fits in better to make him an asshole. Sorry dude. I'll write you nice next time (I'm lying).**

 **For anyone wondering about my other Dean fic, don't worry, both of these stories are fully written so it's just a case of putting that up. Since that's the long one I'll keep posting it twice weekly and put this one up every week. For those of you not wondering, sorry about the detour there!**

* * *

 **1.**

How they had ended up travelling with Ryback neither Dean nor Roman was entirely sure. Yet there he was, asleep on the back seat and snoring like a nasally-challenged moose. In and out, snuffle and snort – his lips and cheeks flapping under the effort.

Roman frowned and leant closer to the windshield; trying to blink through the thick flakes of snow. On top of the snoring, the weather had drawn in on them, buffeting their rental like a tent on a hill. The wipers were pounding up and down squeakily but still the whiteness seemed to increase. If Roman wasn't careful he'd lose the highway entirely and the thought made his knuckles tighten stiffly round the wheel.

Beside him, Dean dropped his cell phone down heavily and shook his head,

"It's no good man. We gotta be in some, like, satellite _blackspot_. I can't get nothin' – I don't know where we are. _Geez_ , is it me, or is this shit getting _heavier_?"

Glancing through the windshield he blinked in incredulity and Roman's snort was wry in return,

"It's not just you babe."

"Seen any signs yet?"

"Nope," the Big Dog shook his head, "But then I can't see much of _any_ damn thing, so it doesn't mean we haven't gone past 'em. I just ain't seen 'em."

Despite the gloomy sentence, Dean nodded resolutely, habitually chewing up and down on his gum.

"Well then, it looks like we're gonna have to nineties this mutha,"

Roman blinked,

"We're going to have to _what_?"

Dean leaned forward and slapped open the glove box and as a flood of orange light splashed out brightly, Roman glanced across at him and frowned. A map appeared suddenly – a bit torn and crumpled – but Dean still produced it like he'd found a Viking horde.

 _Ah_.

Roman got it.

" _Ta da_! I hereby present the _nineties_. No GPS, no internet and no fuckin' cells."

"Well maybe not for _you_ ," Roman countered, teasingly, "But _some_ of us were rocking those construction brick phones."

" _Ah_ ," Dean nodded, "The full _Wall Street_ asshole. Did you wear a nice pin-stripe and carry a briefcase full of blow?"

Roman chuckled,

"You mean when I was _thirteen_?"

"Why? That strange?" Dean shrugged back idly, "In my neighbourhood that would _not_ have been weird."

"Which explains a whole lot."

Dean grinned and stuck out his tongue in amusement before opening up the map book with a dusty sounding creak. Clearly it hadn't been used in decades – that was if ever, which Dean had cause to doubt. It wasn't one of those flip-books either, instead it was a full-on, open-out _sheet_ , which quickly swamped the front of their rental and reached almost clean to the driver's side door,

"What the hell – is that the whole of Canada?"

Dean scanned it quickly,

"You know what? I think it is."

"Any chance there's a little pin in there saying where _we_ are?"

"Nope."

"Yeah, I figured as much."

" _But_ ," Dean countered, scouring the paper and dragging a finger up and down the brown-marked roads, "Thanks to my _rockin'_ navigational prowess, I'm pretty sure I can actually work out where we are."

Roman grinned, accepting the challenge,

"I want it to within _at least_ twenty metres."

"I'll do it ten,"

"Oh really? Big words."

There was a snore from the backseat and it cut off their teasing, drawing a stifled grin from each man. The situation was just so _nutso_ – being lost, the blizzard, snoring beauty, the map. Roman shook his head in amusement and rubbed at his stubble,

"So remind me again how we ended up with him?"

"What, you talking about _Rip Van Winkle_? I don't know man, he just kinda _showed up_. I turned around in the rental car place and he was just stood there, like a big old lost puppy or, you know, some kind of hog,"

Roman grinned as another snore rattled them, the snuffle only adding to the porcine effect. Not _once_ since they had set off had Ryback offered them assistance; with driving, with paying, with navigating, with _shit_. It probably wasn't all that surprising – since Ryback was a pretty antisocial kind of guy – but it didn't help Roman's growing suspicion that it was actually he and Dean who'd been taken for a ride. At this point he was running a glorified taxi but without the meter tallying the cost.

"Okay," Dean offered, stabbing down a finger and tearing a tiny little rip in the map, " _Fuck_. I think I've figured out where we are or – you know – _were_ the last time we saw a sign and it looks like there's some sort of town coming up, so if we don't see it in the next ten minutes – ,"

"We're definitely lost?"

Dean grinned broadly,

"Pretty much."

"Then I guess we'd better keep our eyes peeled for lights then."

"Aye, aye Captain, I'll take first watch."

Around them, the highway seemed deserted, which wasn't surprising given the storm. The locals all seemed to be tucked inside smugly – probably laughing at the out-of-town schmucks on the road. Roman wouldn't have blamed them for it either since – given the choice – he'd have been in the warm. But that was the wonderful thing about wrestling, there was _no_ choice. It was either show up or go home and even in the midst of a _blizzard_ they were all of them too darn pig-headed to say no.

Still the snow continued to flurry, painting the landscape with a vivid luminescence that battered off the slowly encroaching night. On their left side dry twigs took up most of the vista in a never-ending bank of pencil thin trees, that stood resolutely under the blizzard like sentinels protecting the rising mountain peaks. On their right side however, the ground sloped off stiffly, leading towards a wide frozen lake. The ice forming over it looked smooth and almost beautiful it was so unspoilt by any human hand. If it wasn't so cold and downright _scary_ , Roman could almost have marvelled at it all. But then Dean leant forward in his seat in excitement and pointed quickly, breaking the mood,

"Hey, is that a light, or am I going crazy?"

Roman squinted,

"I _think_ that's a light."

"That means a town, baby. What did I tell you?" Dean threw his arms up, voice rising to a yell, "I'm a map-reading _god_ – I'm fuckin' _Chuck Norris_. You want a grid reference? Shit, I'll give you that as well."

Roman chuckled, enjoying the triumph, which was just so fucking adorably _Dean_. What neither of them had banked on however – _or_ remembered – was their hitch hiking Sleeping Beauty squashed in the back and at the combination of laughter and yelling, he suddenly woke up again and broke in with a growl,

"Hey, you guys mind turning the noise down? Some of us are trying to get some shut eye back here."

"Yeah, we'd noticed," Dean snorted in derision, "You were snoring like a god damn _bear_ and not like Baloo or Yogi either, not some cute little _animated_ one. You were more like the one in _Prophecy_ that's all mutated and kills everyone."

Ryback merely blinked at him slowly,

"I'm like _what_?"

Roman stifled his chuckle in a coughing fit, his lips curving jovially at Dean's side-eyed grin. It was a strange and pointless talent his friend had – the gift to utterly bamboozle at will. Even people that really _knew_ him still got a little bit caught out at times. But Roman wasn't one of them and nor had he ever been. He had always just _got_ Dean's flow. Ryback on the other hand, didn't even _try_ to and as the best friends sniggered he peered dead ahead,

"Is that snow?"

 _Geez_ it was like they were riding with Kojak.

"Yeah man," Dean replied with a flourish of his hands that essentially said the words _well duh_ , "It's Canada. I mean, what were you hoping for? Sandy beaches? A swimming pool?"

"No but – ," Ryback blinked in confusion, "There's, like, a _lot_ of it."

"Tell me something I _don't_ know."

As Roman had feared the highway was fading, blending into the white-banked sides and with the light continuing to weaken around them, he was having to follow the waning tracks in the road. It would keep them straight but it was already slippery and as the back skated slightly he let out a curse,

" _Shit_."

"You're doing great buddy," Dean replied instantly, tracing their route with his finger on the map, "That town should be coming up like, any _minute_ , or my name ain't Bear Ambrose Grylls."

"I thought you were Norris."

Dean shrugged,

"That's how good I am. I'm not just one of them baby, I'm _both_."

As the grinning tones of his best friend swept over him, Roman felt himself relax. His fingers unclenched around the wheel just a little and his shoulders dropping down from where they'd clung round his neck. Dean's unique brand of _Ambrose_ reassurance had done wonders. Well, it had on _him_ at least, because as the rustling of the map drew Ryback's attention, he jabbed down accusingly at the thin crumpled sheet,

"What the hell's that? Are you _shitting_ me – we're _lost_ out here? Is that what's happening? Is that what this is?"

His chunky finger landed somewhere in Nunavut and promptly tore _another_ fucking hole and in response Dean folded the yellowed page closer and frowned at him hotly,

" _Hey_ man, look out."

Ryback however was not about to be mollified and suddenly it seemed the whole _storm_ was Dean's fault.

"This is _crazy_. Are you some kind of _moron_?"

Dean's face twitched visibly. Am I some kind of _what_? Fortunately however it was Roman who responded, already having heard more than enough. No one insulted Dean – fucking _ever_ – and definitely not anywhere near his watch.

" _Hey_. The storm knocked out the GPS so the map's just covering our bases, alright? Don't be throwing insults at him – not unless you want to walk."

Ryback grumbled something incoherent and Roman's eyes found him out in the mirror,

"You got something you wanna add?"

The responding silence was resentfully clear and in the swirling vortex of alpha-male tension, Dean couldn't help but smile just a bit. His childhood had been rough – to put it fucking _mildly –_ and not only had he spent the majority of it dirt poor, he had also been lanky and truckloads of quirky which a good combination for the mean streets had _not_ made. He'd fucking lost _count_ of the times he'd been set upon, beaten up, choked out and everything else. He'd had friends sure – he'd always had buddies – but nothing unbreakable. Nothing that strong. Then Roman had shown up and given him a _brotherhood_ and someone that always had his back.

Adulthood had been kind to Dean Ambrose, especially when it came to his friends.

As Roman's eyes slid across to him silently, Dean threw his comrade a sly little wink. _Thanks for that man_. The Big Dog snorted, his lopsided smile speaking volumes of its own.

Up in the distance the little light was drawing in on them and shining like a beacon through the thick, swirling snow. Closer up, Roman could see it was a porch-light and it was joined from several windows by a warm orange glow. Somewhere inside he guessed a family was sitting, maybe round a table or a crackling fire – warm and cosy, snug and protected. Was it wrong to be so jealous of people he didn't know? Sighing he glanced round and noticed Dean staring, as their brains murmured the exact same two bitter words.

 _Lucky bastards_.

"Soon," he murmured, "That'll be us soon – a fire, a feed – ,"

Dean grinned at him,

"A drink?"

Roman chuckled and shook his head fondly,

"Whatever you want babe – whatever you want."

After all, it seemed unlikely they would make it fucking _any_ where so what could it actually hurt to agree? Sensing the easement, Ryback leant in again and cleared his throat boldly.

 _An apology? Wow._

"Do you even _know_ how to read that thing properly?"

 _Ah_.

Roman's eyes rolled. Obviously not and as the focus shifted back to Dean's supposed lack of map skills, the Big Dog snorted and jerked across a thumb,

"Who him? Haven't you heard? He's Chuck fucking Norris,"

"Or Bear Ambrose Grylls. I'm not precious about which."

Ryback blinked back at them both in bewilderment,

"What the hell does that mean? He's _what_?"

Roman grinned wide, Dean's talent was rubbing off on him and knowing it the man in question chuckled back. It wasn't a noise that made Ryback any happier and sensing that he was the butt of the hilarity his anger grew then promptly _broke_ ,

"This isn't _funny_. There's a blizzard out there and I wanna know we're not completely lost."

Dean groaned heavily,

"Not this again, _look_ – ," turning sideways he moved the ripped sheet towards the middle, angling it down so their passenger could see, "This is where we are, we're travelling on this road and this is the town – 'kay man? We're practically there."

"Which _means –_ ," Roman added in case it wasn't obvious, "That _no one's_ lost. Believe that now?"

Ryback huffed. He didn't seem satisfied and with his very next sentence he made that quite clear,

"Well I think somebody else should map-read. Just to make sure we get out of here."

" _What_?"

The response came from Roman and Dean in tandem as they both tried to work out whether they'd misheard. It was Ryback's solid features which told them they hadn't and he stubbornness only confused them more. Or at least it did Roman – Dean was more outraged.

"You ain't getting _my_ map, man."

"Come on Ambrose – ,"

"Get your own."

Roman stayed quiet, not sure what was happening, much less what to say about it all. What in the hell was _wrong_ with Ryback? He was acting like a wrestling parody for god's sake – an angry, entitled, thick-set, _idiot_ and one who had some kind of issue with Dean.

As a gust of chill wind blew hard across the highway, Roman felt the back of the car step out again and he struggled to keep the steering wheel centred, muttering cuss words across his clenched teeth. It was just the lull their passenger had been waiting on and to give him his credit, Ryback moved _fast_. As Dean turned to offer support to their pilot, the bigger man positively _dived_ through the gap, enclosing stubby digits around the frail map-book and tugging it roughly,

"Fucking give me that."

" _Jesus Christ_ man _,_ what the hell?"

Instinctively Dean's hand closed tightly around it, holding it firmly but mostly through shock. Ryback was thrashing like a damn _barracuda_ and he shouldered Roman in the midst of the fight. The steering wheel jerked a little bit further and the back of their rental slid round a fraction more.

" _Careful_."

Ryback didn't listen, so intent was his focus and he hissed as he ripped the map clean from Dean's hands. Unfortunately however, he only got half of it because as he pulled at the weather-beaten sheeting like an animal, it separated suddenly and blocked Roman's line of sight,

" _Hey_ – ,"

It was too late for shouting. It was too late to do _anything_ as the wheels – which had already been battling the ice – locked up completely and slung them off-kilter, spinning the rental in a full fucking _circle_ before bumping them over the opposite curb. The movement flung everyone out of their seats giddily and then down again hard as the wheels hit the bank. The frozen river lay just down beyond them, but luckily the rental sunk into a drift and brought them all to a juddering standstill that rattled their brains up and down in their heads.

For a moment no one spoke, then Roman glanced over and took a shaky look at Dean,

"You alright?" he asked croakily, putting a hand out and laying it over his stunned friend's sleeve, "Hey, look at me. _Are you alright_?"

Shell-shocked blue orbs blinked across in his direction and then seemed to lock on to what was being asked. Sitting himself upright Dean nodded haltingly and coughed in astonishment,

"Uh, yeah – I think so. You?"

Roman's eyes swept over his surroundings. In truth he was paying as much attention to their rental car as he was to the various parts of himself. Nothing was broken, nothing was fractured, the engine was still purring. He sighed,

"Yeah, I'm good and on the plus side we haven't lost our deposit."

"No, but I almost lost my lunch," Dean grinned at him winningly, "That counts, right?"

"You also lost your map. I'm sorry man,"

Pieces of the paper lay scattered on the console and Roman leant forward and brushed them back off. They fluttered towards the floor like hoard of lost butterflies where Dean collected them into a forlorn little heap,

"Guess you really can't go back."

He meant to the nineties although Roman's words of comfort were promptly cut off by a voice from behind. In their haphazard skid right across the main carriage way, Ryback had been flung from the seat to the floor. It had taken him a while to pick himself up again – landing ass-first on an ice scraper hadn't helped – but now that he was free he was positively _furious_ and keen to share his feelings with them,

"Isn't anyone going to fucking ask how _I_ am?"

"Well you're up and you're talking," Roman frowned back, "So based on that I'm guessing you're fine?"

"You realise I could have been flung through the windshield?"

"Not if you'd been wearing your belt like I told you when we left the damn rental place _three hours_ ago. Besides, this whole damn situation is _your_ fault, so if you're looking for sympathy or a hug or whatever, you can look somewhere else 'cos you ain't getting it from me."

Dean clamped down on his tongue to stop from chuckling and in the stormy-sounding silence, Ryback huffed – as in _actually fucking_ blew a stroppy breath out like a middle-aged woman at the back of a queue.

"I don't see how any of this is my fault."

Dean barked in astonishment,

"Come _on_ man, you _don't_? When you're up here shouting, ripping the damn map in half, shouldering the driver, fucking _blocking_ his view – ,"

"You want to be careful playing the blame game here Ambrose, since technically this mess is _your_ fault,"

" _My_ fault?" Dean echoed, face twisted in confusion, "How the hell did you work _that_ out?"

"How did I work it out? Fucking simple. You're the one who – ,"

" _That's enough_!"

Without any warning Roman virtually exploded and his deep tones positively _vibrated_ through the car. Dean raised his brows by an inch but said nothing, knowing that the outburst wasn't really aimed at him but at the whole thing in general and at Ryback.

No wait, _especially_ at fucking Ryback.

"Let's just focus on getting to the show in one piece. You sure you're okay babe?"

Turning back to Dean the brown eyes softened and the scruffy blonde smiled.

 _Not_ angry with him.

Somewhere behind them Ryback shifted but whether attempting to make himself comfortable or showing his unhappiness Dean couldn't tell. Not that he _or_ Roman really cared much since he was the reason – and screw what he thought about it – _he was the reason_ their car was buried in the snow.

Shifting their rental back into drive, Roman eased his foot across the gas pedal and was rewarded by a powerful sounding growl. The wheels moved with it – they could _hear_ the treads turning and the whole damn chassis bodily jerked – but in terms of covering actual _distance_ they were pretty much helpless.

The car was stuck.

"Damn," Roman sighed and banged on the steering wheel, "That's what I was afraid of."

"Afraid of what? Why? Are we stuck?"

At Ryback's patently obvious questions, Roman groaned and shut his eyes. The guy was an idiot and they were stranded with him. It was going to be a hell of a night. Keen to pull his best friend back out of it however, Dean unclipped his belt with a _snap_ and a sigh,

"Of course we're stuck man, what does it look like? Now are you going to sit in here and play Captain fuckin' Obvious or are you gonna help me push this thing out?"

Dean didn't wait for an answer – he didn't need one, not with the moral high ground on his side – and turning he launched the door wide open and stepped out into the blizzard –

Where the wind promptly hit him like a slap across the face.

Gasping in shock as the iciness clawed him, he fumbled to zip his leather jacket further up, shuddering as the breath was ripped clean from him and coughing in astonishment,

" _Holy_ _crap_."

On the backseat Ryback shrank into the upholstery and peered out wide-eyed,

"You want me to go out there – in _that_?"

Even Roman looked ever so slightly dubious,

"Dean, come on man – ,"

Pink cheeks peered back through the whipping flakes of snow and even though it was obvious that Dean was _half-frozen_ the teeth still chattered out a bullish reply,

"What? I mean, we're stuck aren't we? Well then, we need to get _un_ stuck, right?"

From Dean's perspective the issue was a simple one and faced with straight forward _Ambrose_ logic, Roman couldn't help but grin. Dean was the best friend he'd ever had – hands down – and part of the reason that he valued him so fiercely was that unfussy, upbeat, no nonsense kind of groove. Dean was by no means a complicated person and so it was therefore only natural that his plans followed suit.

Unclipping his seatbelt, Roman nodded and poppered his jacket a little further up,

"Right," he agreed, "Let's go check out the damage and get the hell out of here to someplace warm."

Actually getting _out_ however, was one of those things that was easier said than done, thanks to the sheer voracity of the blizzard that was whipping around their stranded rental car. The temperature of the air was actually _painful,_ as if a thousand tiny teeth were nipping at his skin and it made him instinctively turtle deeper into his jacket, thankful for down linings and thick ski gloves. Never again would be bemoan winter clothing given to him as Christmas gifts.

 _Thanks mom._

As Roman took a moment or two to acclimatise, Dean tried to rouse the rest of their group, stamping an awkward path through the snow bank and unceremoniously hauling open the back door. Perhaps as was to be expected, Ryback was less than encouraged by the move,

"What the _fuck_ man?! It's fucking _cold_."

"Oh right, sorry," Dean shrugged blankly, trying and failing to sound sincere, "Probably best to get out and move around a bit. Get the blood kind of _circulating_ , you know?"

Pointedly he kept the door open, his face not brooking any dissent and sighing heavily Ryback shifted and pulled his hat on, grumbling with every last effort he made.

"Freeze to death…fucking _douchebag_ …"

Dean remained unmoved by the performance and instead went to join Roman at the back of the car, arriving in a haphazard on-the-heels, half-stumble as the mulchy snow gave way beneath his feet.

" _Whoa_."

Roman was crouched down low beside the rear wheels, using his waterproof gloves to scrape a path. Dean's gloves were fingerless and impossibly woollen and as he stooped down to help a palm landed on his chest,

"Hey, I got this," Roman offered, "Don't need you getting frostbite on top of everything else."

Dean smiled fondly,

"Over-protective fucker."

"Would you have me any other way?"

"Probably not."

The love-in was interrupted by a grumbled string of cuss-words as Ryback suddenly came stamping into view. Unfortunately for him he skidded on an ice patch and as his stocky arms flew out in blind panic, he stumbled forward and landed elbow-first against the car,

"Hey," Dean grinned, "I _literally_ just did that – like – totally the same place and everything man."

Ryback's narrowed eyes glowed hot fury. Clearly he was _not_ a fan of unplanned comedic symmetry or snowstorms, or travelling or company in general. There didn't seem to be a whole lot the man actually _liked_ and blowing out a long hot breath that curled like smoke in the frozen gale before him, Dean turned back to Roman brightly,

"So, what's the verdict Big Dog? We stranded?"

His best friend snorted,

"Man, I _hope_ not. I figure maybe we just need a little traction. With you two pushing we should make it out okay. Won't know until we try though."

"No time like the present, right?"

 _Straight-Forward Ambrose_ – there he fucking was again and as usual Roman couldn't stop himself from smiling as he raised a glove hand and let Dean haul him to his feet,

"I guess not. Hey, you alright to push this thing?"

"Who me?" Dean echoed, feigning mortal insult, "Sure, besides, it's not just me. I've got _The Mummy Returns_ over here as back-up. Trust me. We'll get out just fine."

Ryback's face twitched,

"I'm warning you Ambrose – ,"

Dean held his hands up, ever the innocent and Roman snorted but fixed them with a look.

"Can you two last five minutes without killing each other if I go back and start her up?"

In response his best friend saluted him smartly and Ryback merely curled a lip. It wasn't the most reassuring reception but with the snow still falling and the wind whipping round Roman didn't have the luxury of doubting them and with one final look he headed back for his seat.

"When I hit the gas, give it everything you've got."

Ryback watched him go like some sort of eagle, eyeing him from above a lofty mountain stoop. At the sound of the door slamming his attention switched completely and he spun back to Dean with a dark look in his eye. It was time for payback for those cutesy fucking nicknames and asides that everyone else laughed about. Why? Ryback simply didn't get it – never _had_ done either. He just didn't like the guy. As far as he was concerned Dean Ambrose was an oddity. A god damn _bat_ in a colony of birds. Hanging upside down when everyone was perching and setting off when the rest of them were settled for the night. He just didn't _fit_ but everyone still loved him and the more the thought festered, the more heated Ryback got. Somebody needed to knock Ambrose down a peg and he could literally think of no better time. The snow was swirling, Roman was occupied and the man himself was bent in towards the rental, positioning his shoulder flush against the trunk,

"You alright to take the other side?"

It was a simple question and spoken with a lightness that highlighted how oblivious Ambrose really was. Clearly he had already moved past their disagreement but the fact that he was so fucking magnanimous only served to make Ryback _more_ cross and before the bulky man even knew what he was doing, he'd reached across and whipped the hat from Dean's head.

" _Hey_ – ,"

Ryback was a child – he felt like a _five year old_ – but damn it made him smile to swing the garment round and round and even better was the pay-off when Ambrose looked up at him, equal parts baffled and deeply annoyed,

"What the hell? Did you just _Bogart_ my hat?"

"You want it?"

Ryback dangled it teasingly and for the first time since they'd bumped into him three hours earlier, Dean watched the rounded face break into a smile. It was oddly unsettling and yet _he_ was the lunatic? The guy was insane. Big and insane. Sighing mildly Dean reached his hand out, only to watch the hat jerk away,

" _Come on_ , it's like, minus ten out here,"

"Not until you say it,"

"Say fucking _what_ dude?" Dean growled back and _Jesus Christ_ it was like being at school again, with one of those bullies who had thought it was funny to steal his shit and throw it around. It had been bad enough to deal with when he'd been a gangly teenager – there was no fucking _way_ he was dealing with it now.

"Say you're a chicken shit."

"What?" Dean screwed his face up, "Why the hell would I say that?"

"Because you _are_ a fucking chicken shit and _I've_ got your hat. What are you gonna do about it?"

 _Really?_

Dean blinked. The whole was fast becoming totally ridiculous and Dean could feel his patience wearing thin. What the hell was wrong with the guy anyway? Were they not giving him a free fucking ride to the show, which – minor car crash notwithstanding – was a damn sight more charitable than anyone else. The rest of the roster had _literally_ abandoned him and not for the first time, Dean could see why.

"You want it? _Fine_ ," he shrugged, "You keep it. I hope you're real fucking happy together."

As a piece of snow flew into his mouth, he coughed and turned away from the blizzard, trying to ignore his fast numbing ears and the fact that his whole _head_ painfully craved warmth. What he needed was his god damn hat, not that he was about to admit it and as an unawares Roman floored the gas, Ryback finally – thankfully – lost interest.

Well, _sort of_.

"Hey, lunatic, here's your hat."

With a flick of his wrist he suddenly tossed it sideways, grinning as it was caught like a paper bag by the wind and sent spiralling away down the snow-covered bank.

"Hey man – ,"

Ryback smirked back at him smugly,

"Hey Ambrose, are you gonna go and get that?"

 _Fucker_.

Dean may not have said it physically but his eyes relayed it none the less and as he trudged off down the bank towards it, he banged on the rental to get Roman to quit. No point in draining the whole damn gas tank while the pair of them stood and bickered in the snow.

His hat had landed by the edge of the lake. Not _on_ it – luckily – but teetering over the side and practically skimming the opaque-looking ice, which made actually getting near it an arduous task. Up beside the wide modern highway, the ground had been even and mostly flat, but as the earth fell steeply away towards the water Dean found it pitted and more difficult to guess. The thick white covering of snow didn't help him and he stumbled and sunk in up to his ankles, cursing both inwardly and externally as well.

"Fuckin' Ryback."

Somewhere behind him he heard the car door slam, although the clarity of the noise was somewhat lost. Despite that though, he guessed it was Roman, coming to see what the hold-up was and suddenly keen to get back and gets things moving, Dean sped up a little.

That was a mistake.

As Dean stepped down heavily right beside his beanie, the snowfall he had carved a path through suddenly turned to ice and without any warning or the chance to balance, he was powerless to stop himself from sliding clean over and landing roughly on the small of his back.

But that wasn't even the worst of it either because fuck if he didn't _keep_ _on_ sliding – slithering straight over the lip of the bank.

" _Shit."_

His heart did a somersault but barely got to finish before his heels crashed heavily into the ice. The _crack_ as they bust through it was a horrible sound and as he realised what it was, Dean's eyes widened in horror.

 _No, no, no – fuck, fuck – no._

His hands scrabbled wildly, trying to grab the snowfall in a last-ditch effort to slow himself down. But try as he might there was nothing he could hold onto and he plunged with a yelp into the freezing cold lake.

* * *

 **Hit the button, you know what to do. Tell me what you think so far...**


	2. Chapter 2

**So it turns out I'm not the only one with a thing for battered Dean then?! Thank you for my kind reviews. I know I left you on a bit of a cliffhanger (sorry, not sorry) and I hope that this was worth the wait. I feel like I should say another sorry to Ryback. I hope he isn't crying somewhere. Nah, I'm pretty sure he's not..**

* * *

 **2.**

As a child Dean hadn't been able to swim.

Or maybe that wasn't entirely true, after all his body been physically able, it was just that he had never been _taught_ and given the area he'd grown up in, that wasn't exactly a massive surprise.

On the mean streets of Cincinnati, learning how to swim had not been at the top of anyone's skillset. Much more relevant to daily life had been figuring out how to avoid the frequent turf wars and ducking the local drug dealers and their knives. Water wings had never got a look in and so it wasn't until Dean had started on the indies that he had even given swimming chance; taking full advantage of the rare occasions that they hit a motel that came with a pool.

By the time he had rolled up to FCW he could float and doggy paddle enough to get by but he was by no means signed up for a spot at the Olympics. In Florida though, life _was_ water and in the course of the general socialising that had followed, Dean had found himself at more water-based parties than he even thought possible. At the same time he had slowly garnered more skills.

The turning point however, in his relationship with water, had been his _Shield_ teaming with Roman and Seth, both of whom were experienced enough to technically be classified as fucking _Mermen_. Roman in particular, as a native Floridian, had been especially keen to spend off-days at the beach and since there wasn't a sports-based activity in the world that Seth didn't fucking excel at, he too had enjoyed an affinity for the wet stuff. As a result – and almost before he knew it – Dean too had become a semi confident water-man.

In fact Dean actually _liked_ the water, or _had_ about two seconds ago, because the frigid lake he found himself submerged in was something else entirely and _fucking hell_ was it cold.

As in really, _really_ , bone-achingly freezing.

It felt like an icy hand had gripped his body and was squeezing the air out of him, refusing to let go. The sensation was total; a gut punch to the system and it hurt – god it hurt – it was _so fucking_ _cold_. He couldn't think, he couldn't function and that was a major problem right there, given that if he didn't kick his legs out he was pretty sure he was going to drown. He had to move – he had to do _something_ – and summoning his fast-failing energy reserves, he beat his heavy-feeling legs through the waters and clawed through the floating fragments of ice. It was a sudden, purposeful surge towards freedom and his brain screamed him on.

 _Come on, fuckin' do it._

He broke the surface as his lungs began burning, emerging spluttering into the light. The chill wind that moments before had seemed bitter now seemed to feel fucking _polar_ instead, whistling around his sodden wet body and swiftly highlighting the newest issue he had.

The half of him that was still in the water felt nothing. It was almost completely fucking numb.

 _Shit_.

He needed to get out and pretty damn quickly, but that was easier said than done and although on the way down the bank had seemed tiny, it god damn _loomed_ above him now. His fingers were sensationless and although he could see them, he couldn't physically make them grab hold. He couldn't get out, he didn't have the energy and as if the heaving of his chest wasn't quite bad enough, his teeth began to chatter as well.

His whole body hated him.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck…_

" _Dean_!"

The panic-stricken shout of his name filtered down to him as if spoken-through a funnel from a long way away and it briefly battled for control of his hearing with the static fizzing in both of his ears.

 _Roman_?

He barely had time to register the question before suddenly a hand was tight on his shoulder, grabbing up a great big handful of his jacket and pulling him round into big anxious eyes,

"Dean – _hey_ , are you okay?"

Probably a redundant question under the circumstances but it came out anyway, loaded with worry and with a ton of confusion mixed in besides. Roman's heart was beating out a quick step and positively _hammering_ against his ribs. The last few seconds had passed in a half-blur and how he had made it down to the bank he didn't know. One minute he had been standing at the back of their rental and the next he had been bending down to hook Dean out. The only thing he _did_ remember was watching his best friend plunge off the edge and the yell he gave as he disappeared from sight. Everything after that had been a mad scramble, ploughing through the snow to just get down to him and now that Roman had his fingers in the jacket he wasn't prepared to let him go.

"Dean?" he tried again a little bit firmer, not sure what sort of answer he was expecting, but hoping for something nonetheless.

"F- _fuck_ ,"

Frozen cold fingers scrabbled up to meet him as Dean tried frantically to find a firm hold and somewhere close by there was a high-pitching knocking that filled in the silence like a weird ceramic drill. It took a second for Roman to realise that the drilling was actually the chattering of Dean's frozen teeth and as his stomach lurched, he pulled him in closer and tried to soothe him some more,

"It's okay _uce_ , easy now, I got you – I'm gonna get you out, okay?"

"Uh _h-huh_ ,"

"Hang tight, you hear?"

Only to actually get Dean free Roman needed a little assistance, because while Dean was not light at the best of damn times, bundled up in sodden winter clothing he was basically an immovable lump and turning, Roman bellowed back up the hill angrily,

" _Ryback_!"

Where the fuck _was_ the guy? Did he have no sense of urgency whatso-fucking-ever or was he just that god damn slow?

Under his grip he could feel Dean shaking and he pulled him higher out of the water, hoping that somehow it would stave off the chill but also knowing that it probably was useless. What he _needed_ was to be out of the lake and with each passing second that need became more urgent. Dean's trembling fingers curled around his wrist and he juddered a few words out,

"S- _so_ _f-fucking_ cold,"

"Hang on babe. God damn it – _Ryback_!"

The crunching of snow was like music to his ears as their irascible hitch-hiker appeared from the blizzard. Clearly – having seen Dean take a tumble – he'd decided on the slowly-but-surely approach and although it meant staying out of the water, it had also made the process sluggish at best. When he finally managed to drop down beside them, Roman was positively _growling_ with rage,

"We need to get him out."

Ryback blinked back at him and for the briefest of seconds it looked like he was actually going to protest, but then his eyes fell down towards Dean – whose lips were turning fucking _blue_ – and the seriousness of the situation he had helped to manufacture flew at him screaming.

He grabbed Dean's coat.

Levering himself forwards and gritting his teeth, Roman plunged an arm beneath the water, securing it safely under Dean's arms and almost hollering as he did.

 _Holy hell._

The water was freezing – no, more than that. _Painful._ It was bitingly, achingly, _agonisingly_ cold and that was after less than a second, Dean had been in there for over a minute, _all_ of him, _literally_ head to toe. Making sure he had a tight grip on him, Roman barked out the order,

" _Now_."

Then he rocked back on his heels and pulled, listening to the lake water slosh with the movement as Dean was dragged up again, inch by inch, over the bank and back onto solid ground. In an instant Roman was there right behind him, propping the limp body up against his own and rubbing soothingly at the arms as Dean shook like he was experiencing an earthquake that only he could feel,

"Alright babe, alright."

Roman didn't exactly know _what_ was alright – none of it technically – but he was struck by a desperate need to say something and reassuring sentences seemed as good a start as any.

" _C-cold_ ,"

"I know," Roman answered, holding him tighter, "We're going to get you somewhere warm, okay?"

A figure squatted down beside them in the snow and Ryback's face dipped into view. For the first time since they had encountered him at the rental place, he actually looked like he possessed some emotion and as his wide round eyes drank in Dean's shaking form he swallowed uncertainly,

"Hey, how is he?"

Dean jerked violently and for a horrible second Roman thought he was having a convulsion, thankfully however when he looked down it wasn't a seizure but amusement that had gripped him and while it wasn't brim-full with actual mirth it was certainly pretty fucking wry,

" _F-fucking_ _f_ - _freezing_ , no _t-thanks_ to you,"

Roman's eyes narrowed,

"What does that mean?"

But before he could get an answer from either one of them – and damn it if Ryback didn't look away guiltily – Dean's whole body really did judder and suddenly getting to the bottom of what had happened seemed utterly unimportant next to getting him warm,

"Come on."

At the feeling of Roman's hands beneath his shoulders, Dean tried his best to get his feet to move. Unfortunately his brain didn't pass on the message and in the end he had to be content with letting his best friend haul him upright, gripping him firmly by his wet lapels and then keeping him steady with an arm around his waistline.

"You good?"

Another pretty redundant question but Dean knew what he meant all the same and he nodded, his pithy response making Roman chuckle,

" _F-fucking_ bitchin'."

Or, more accurately it ached _like_ a bitch since Dean felt as though he was wearing fucking cardboard or something more unforgiving than that like granite or rock. His jeans had frozen almost completely, surrounding his legs in tight swathes of ice and fusing sodden denim straight onto his thigh-skin. Those were going to be a joy to take off. His jacket – which before had provided enough warmth to get by in – had become a weight around his shoulders and beads of water inched over his body as subtly as fingernails or fresh razor blades.

Over the years, he had been through tables, he'd fought against fucking barbed wire ropes, but never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that his body could be so _agonised_ while at the same time being numb. His brain could barely process it all – although, in fairness, that was frozen too. He didn't even realise that Roman was moving them, until he felt himself stumble and let out a gasp.

It was like being in a really cold dream.

"Easy,"

" _Uce_ , I _c-can't_ feel – ,"

"I know bud," Roman rumbled, holding him just that little bit tighter, "I know, I got you. You're gonna be fine."

Looking around a little to orient himself, Dean couldn't help but frown in aggravation. Where the hell had Ryback had slithered off to? Shouldn't he have been trying to help? Especially since it was _his_ damn fault.

As he raged however, that thought was stolen by a sudden sensation in his hands and his feet. It was a horrible, gnawing, burning stab of fire that throbbed in each of his poor frozen joints. It was almost like a blacksmith working at an iron, just _hammering_ away at him digit by digit. In fact it was almost ridiculously painful and as it tore his breath clean away, he actually straight-up _yelped_ ,

"Dean?" Roman asked immediately, peering across at him,

"M'okay, it just _h-hurts_ in my _f-fingers_ an' – _fuck_ ,"

Almost more than anything else he wished his god damn jaw would stop juddering up and down, but that was a pretty distant hope since _all_ of him was shaking. He just wanted to be _warm_. He wanted it so much it hurt. _God_ he wanted it – and his best friend's probing eyes could see the need too.

"Ryback," he snipped, peering through the blizzard and using his free hand to pull loose the keys, "Go turn the heat up full blast in there and get some dry clothes from the back – towels too."

A grunt from somewhere within the swirling snowflakes told Dean that their passenger was still close by and as the bulky form slid past him it stopped just long enough to hesitantly hold something out. It took Dean a second to realise what it was and even then he just blinked.

 _Really?_

His hat.

"Here, thought you might want this."

In the absence of any discernible movement, Roman took the headwear with a heavily-seated frown, not failing to miss the tension in the moment and realising he there was whole chunk of the tale he hadn't heard. Then, just as quickly as he'd appeared from the white-out, Ryback scampered off up the hill, the keys still jingling faintly through the wind noise. Yep, something was _definitely_ off. Although with Dean still shaking like a leaf alongside him and gasping like every last breath was a chore, Roman stowed his mystification and his slung an arm around his neck,

"Come on, we need to get you out of these clothes,"

Dean chuckled roughly and as he did, a bead of water trickled out of his hairline and splashed down against his blue-grey lips,

"Sleaze,"

"Yeah, yeah," Roman chuckled back at him, before gritting his teeth as he shouldered Dean's weight. Together they set off up the sharp little incline in a half-drag, half-shuffle that ploughed trails in the snow. He could tell Dean was trying but each step was laborious and so mostly Roman was just towing him along, bracing his friend whenever he stumbled and trying to stop them from both ending up face down.

" _F-fuckin'_ Ryback,"

"Nearly there Dean."

Which in hindsight was probably just as well, given the ever worsening conditions and the snowflakes that were sticking to Dean's lashes like glue. He was also pretty sure that the wet denim had rubbed his legs raw, since each step was like skimming his thighs with a cheese grater, or glass shards or, like, some sort of burrowing _worm_. It was a disturbing mental image even by his standards but it at least kept his mind off the pain and when he glanced up again he could actually see their rental, looming into view through the vortex of snow.

 _Thank the fucking Lord._

His knees nearly buckled,

"Whoa," Roman's voice reverberated through him, "Keep going babe – just a little more."

Thankfully – and somewhat miraculously too – it seemed as if Ryback had done was he was meant to and as Roman flung the car door wide, they were hit by a blast of incredibly hot air, that hit Dean's frozen features like lightning and was almost enough to make him weep. Or, you know, _would_ have made made him weep were it not for the fact that it caught in his throat, setting him coughing out harsh little volleys that rattled the errant beads of water from his head.

 _Jesus Christ_ , did it ever fucking end?

"Alright, alright," Roman murmured at him softly, "How about we get you warmed up some, huh?"

Gathering his breath as best he could he tried to help as Roman eased him into the car, taking a denim-braced step onto the doorframe before his chilled legs failed him and depositing him down. As Roman let go he toppled forwards bodily and bounced face-first off the plush leather seats. Fortunately however it wasn't unpleasant and as Roman pushed his legs in and slammed the door behind him, Dean simply lay there and let himself go limp. His body vibrated up and down like an alarm clock and despite being out of the swirl of the storm he was still cold, no, scratch that, he was _freezing_ – every part of him, toes, fingers, mind, body and soul.

A squeaking of leather from somewhere beyond him made him crack open a suddenly vigilant eye and he found himself gazing across the rental at Ryback, who was occupying the driver's seat.

 _What the hell?_

Considering that he had been the reason for the mishap – _both_ the damn mishaps come to think of that – his face was unusually devoid of expression. Not guilt, not shame, not discomfort, not _shit_ and the apathy made Dean growl in frustration,

"Want to take a _f-fucking p-picture_?"

Then he inhaled another drop of water and promptly started coughing again. It blinded him completely to Ryback's expression – if there even _was_ such a thing – and meant that by the time Roman got the far door open, the lake water was mingling with lack-of-oxygen tears.

"Whoa now, _easy_ – Dean, take it easy."

" _C-can't_ breathe – ,"

"I know babe, I know, I'm coming."

The blast of cold air as Roman jumped in lasted only briefly before the door was shut again and the seat at Dean's head depressed beneath two kneecaps as the Big Dog shuffled in as close as he could get. Two big hands rubbed circles on his back and then pulled him over to work around his chest and Dean could hear the _whoosh_ of metal teeth as his leather jacket was swiftly unzipped.

"You get those dry clothes from the back like I asked you?"

Something hit Dean and covered his chest and Roman snatched it back off again crossly. Moments later the big hands were back and they helped to lever Dean up against the seats. There was a towel in Roman's hands which Dean assumed was the missile and a whole host of clothing that didn't look like his. Roman's face looked drawn with anger and as he started to tug Dean's jacket off roughly his gaze swung between them as he hunted for the facts,

"Either of you going to tell me what happened?"

Dean snorted roughly but wryly in response. Roman wanted to know? Fine. He'd tell him. He had _no_ fucking problem with throwing Ryback beneath the bus – hell, he would have thrown him out of an _airplane_ – but as it turned out he wasn't alone in the blame-game because their bulky hitch-hiker got there first,

"You _know_ what happened," Ryback grunted quickly, "Your buddy Ambrose was being a jerk."

Hold up a minute. Fucking _what_?

As Dean's mouth opened and closed in amazement Roman finally pulled loose the coat and started to peel back the hem of his t-shirt, issuing orders as he went.

"Arms up."

Dean was still doing his best fish impression but he responded to the order as best as he could, still trying to grasp the full extent of his outrage as the cold wet material was swiped past his face.

"You _s-stole_ my hat and _t-threw_ it _d-down_ the _f-fucking_ bank,"

"He did what?" Roman's eyes narrowed in sharply, "Hold up. _That's_ what you were doing down there?"

"My _h-head_ was _c-cold_."

But that wasn't exactly what Roman was getting at and turning he stared dual daggers at Ryback.

"You _made_ him go down there?"

"Hey, this is _his_ fault. I didn't make him do anything, okay? He's the idiot that fell in,"

" _Slipped_ ," Dean stressed, his words slurring slightly, " _S-slipped_ not _f-fell_."

Holy shit he was starting to feel weird, as in a spaced out, dreamlike, _not there_ weird. Before the bitter chill had been an all-consuming fire but now it was fading into a distant background scream. It was being replaced by the desire to let his eyes close, which even _he_ knew wasn't a good sign. But he was also losing the energy to form sentences and with Roman and Ryback still bickering back and forth he didn't have the strength to make himself heard over them.

 _Damn it._

Silently, his eyes slid closed.

"Besides," Roman continued, unaware of Dean's plight, "He wouldn't have _been_ down there if you hadn't thrown his hat away. He could have been killed, you realise that? I mean, what the hell is your problem anyway, because you've been nothing but an dick to him since the minute we set off."

"I didn't realise I had to crawl up his ass,"

"Cut it out," Roman growled, "He's not done _shit_ to you."

"No, not Mr. Fucking Perfect over there,"

"I _said_ cut it out."

The car fell silent and sorting through the spare clothes, Roman grabbed a hoodie which he realised was one of his. Clearly Ryback had no idea whose shit he'd grabbed. Although interestingly there seemed to be nothing of _his_. Something else chalk up on the old ' _dick-o-meter_ ' which was already hovering up near the top. Fortunately, over their years on the road, he and Dean and grown accustomed to sharing, or rather _he_ had since Dean had a tendency to pack lightly and run out of clothes a day or two in. _Hey man, can I borrow a shirt?_ The answer to the question was always _yes_. Hell, Roman would have given Dean the shirt off his _back_. He would have given him anything.

Ryback not so much.

"Hey,"

At the sound of their hitchhiker's stupid gruff voice – and maybe now he was being kind of childish but it sure felt _good_ to hate his guts – Roman's expression darkened visibly,

" _What_?"

"Is he meant to be kinda _sleeping_ right now?"

"What?"

Panic laced through him and he turned back quickly, worried brown orbs sweeping over his friend.

 _Shit_.

Sure enough, Dean's eyes were closed and his head had flopped over to rest up against the window. In the ever fading light his skin looked pale and his breathing was shallow. Roman shook him, _hard_.

"Hey, no, no, _Dean_ – wake up."

Another hard shake broke through the ice-chilled slumber as Dean shifted and _hummed_ a little in complaint. Groggy blue eyes slid open in confusion and although they were framed beneath an unimpressed frown, Roman blew out a breath nonetheless,

" _Geez_. Hey, don't go to sleep on me, alright?"

He cupped Dean's face in his hands as he spoke, brushing the damp strands of hair from his head and watching as his friend tried to push himself up again,

"Wasn't sleepin' man," he grumbled,

 _Yeah right._

"Well let's keep it like that, huh? Come on now, look, I got nice warm clothes. You gonna help me put them on?"

Externally he had moved into full-on gentle _dad-mode_ , coaxing and babying like he did with his kid. _Internally_ however was a whole other story and everything was moving at a million miles an hour. Dean falling off to sleep was massively _not_ good and neither was the grogginess or the evident confusion. They needed to get help and get Dean to safety and as Roman tugged the sweatshirt over the wet curls and struggled to push the limp arms through the sleeves holes, he also formed a plan in his head, which he shared as he roughly towel-dried Dean's head.

"You think you can get him into some pants?"

As the sentence hung between them, Ryback looked up,

" _Me_?"

"I'm lookin' at you aren't I?"

"But, wait, why me? I mean, what about you?"

"I'm going to get us some help," he responded, securing his jacket as high as it would go and pulling his hat down a little bit further so that he could safely pull up the big wide hood. Ryback stared back at him like he'd gone completely crazy.

"Help? From _where_? We're fucking stuck in a blizzard!"

Dean was still shaking and completely disoriented, he had to be otherwise he'd have been on his case too.

 _Hey man, are you nuts, it's freezing out there, come on, I'll be fine_.

But he didn't say a thing and in the end that strengthened Roman's resolve,

"The house we passed a little while back, it's not far, there were lights on. I'm pretty sure I can make it."

"Look, why don't we all just stay here? I mean, the heating's on and hell, when the storm's done, we can push the car back onto the road and carry on."

For all his bravado Ryback actually looked worried and whether it was through genuine concern or sheer obnoxiousness, Roman couldn't be entirely sure. Either way, it wasn't an option and if he was honest, then so was precious little else.

"Can't do that,"

"Why not?"

Roman pointed,

"Come on, _look_ at him – I think he's got hypothermia and if we stay here and he keeps on getting worse then I sure as hell won't know what to do to help him. Besides, we need at least two people to push us out and who knows how long this storm will last. If we keep on cranking out the heat the way we're doin' then we're gonna completely run down the tank – but we've got to if we want to keep him warm. So tell me – and I mean tell me – what other choice do we have?"

Ryback stayed quiet but swallowed his resentment and silently reached out towards the dry clothes. Honestly Roman felt bad about leaving them – well, not Ryback but definitely Dean – but at the same time it was the best thing to help him and Roman _needed_ to keep him safe.

As for himself? Well, he would cross that when he got there and reaching out he gave Dean a shake. The blue eyes once again flew open,

"Hey uce, remember what I told you about no sleeping? At least until I get back, okay?"

"Back?" Dean mumbled and _god_ he looked out of it, "Back fr'm where?"

"Just stepping out for a minute okay? Think you can get out of the rest of these wet clothes while I'm gone, huh? Put some dry stuff on?"

Dean's eyes flickered shut again, but at least this time he made an effort to open them and briefly locked eyes with his brother-come-best-friend,

"Give't a go,"

"That's all I'm asking babe," Roman patted him fondly, then turned and began to shift towards the door. The thin leather seating protested underneath him but seemed infinitely preferable to the howling gale outside. Still, what other choice did he have? He had to go and get help – _for Dean_ – and placing a decisive hand on the door latch, he turned to Ryback with one last command,

"Don't let him go to sleep, you hear me? Because if _anything_ happens to him while I'm gone, I swear to god you won't live to see morning."

Then he flung the door open and stepped shivering outside.

* * *

 **So, do you think Roman will make it? Is he sensible? Crazy? Anything in between?**

 **I'll be back with another chapter sometime next week. I'm also posting my other Dean story (twice a week with that one) so check it out while you wait. I've only got 2 days off over the next 14 (not together either, in fact, stop reminding me) so if things are maybe a day or two slow then it's because I'm passed out in my bed and snoring.**


	3. Chapter 3

**So, here we are again. Another week, another chapter and thank you to everyone who's following this and has reviewed.**

 **Courtney, I am super glad you're addicted. No, I think that's perfectly normal (it is in my world anyway!) Thank you for complimenting my writing as well. I'm really fussy about what and how I write and I'm glad that comes across (in this one at least).**

 **penelo14 , I'm glad you think Roman is doing the right thing. He's such a hero isn't he? And as for Ryback, well, what can I say? He's** _ **trying**_ **to help...actually, no he's not!**

 **Read on!**

* * *

 **3.**

The chill air hit him like a slap around the face.

No, scratch that, like a slap around the _everything_ and it took every last measure of Roman's resolve not to turn around and dive straight back into the car again.

 _No._

He shook his head.

 _Start walking Reigns_.

Figuring it was safer, Roman stuck to the highway, climbing up the bank from their snow-sunken rental and following the mostly-hidden white lines.

Due to the lack of vehicular activity, the asphalt beneath his feet felt quite firm and as it turned out his greatest adversaries were the thickly blowing flakes of snow, which came at him like airborne troopers and stuck to his skin to chill his bones. Tucking his chin deep into his jacket, he dipped his head and continued down the road, idly remembering Dean's chirped projection about warmth and food and a tumbler of booze.

"I'll get you there babe," he murmured deeply, "Just hold on, I'll get you there."

It was funny really, his and Dean's friendship, which had blossomed during their time in FCW and solidified pretty soon after that. On the face of it they were total polar opposites; one of them from a comfortable background and the other from an almost _Dickensian_ poor world. Nothing about their looks, style or upbringings had screamed _bromance_ and yet that was what they had. Personality-wise they were _twins_. Just two chill, laid-back dudes who valued loyalty, hard-work and humour. In that order too. Before meeting Dean, Roman had been a _group_ guy, the sort of person who had a whole volley of friends. It was part of the territory of playing college football and as a result he'd never really been a _best friends_ man. Now he wasn't _only_ a best friend, he was practically a brother as well.

 _Uce_.

He hoped that Ryback was actually helping and that Dean was changed and safe and warm. The chances weren't great but he had to think positive because what the hell else was there to do? More than anything he hoped Dean wasn't sleeping. But what if he was and Ryback wasn't watching him? What if they couldn't wake Dean up? The thought made his heart jolt deep in his ribcage and he picked up the pace again.

Well, as much as he could.

The snow was falling thick and fast around him like a giant white vortex that shut out the light. He could only make out the ground three feet in front of him and then that was it; there was literally nothing else. It was like being caught in the middle of a pillow fight only colder and a whole lot less fun.

He couldn't feel his face anymore.

It was difficult to work out how far along the road he'd gone and the distance could have been anywhere in the region of a few hundred metres to half a damn mile. At one point he thought he might have passed the house completely, but then he saw it blinking up ahead; the light above the porch shining out like a lighthouse or some sort of spirit guide to help poor snowed-in folk.

With the adrenaline pounding hard in his system, he crossed the highway in a wind-battered run, praying that there was no oncoming traffic because wouldn't _that_ just be his luck? Fortunately however, the road remained deserted and it seemed like the only one out there was him. As he hit the driveway the heel of his boot skidded and he skated directly into the porch. He landed with a crash against the wooden staircase and barked his shin on the lowermost rung.

"Damn it."

Gripping on tight to the little wooden railings, he clambered towards the front door with care, ignoring the pounding of his newly forming shin-bruise and the biting sensation slowly spreading through his hands. The wind and snowfall lessened under cover and he leant against the doorframe, catching his breath. At the same time he lifted a heavily gloved knuckle and thumped on the woodwork.

 _Bang, bang, bang._

"Come on," he muttered impatiently, "Come on."

 _Please god let someone be home_.

They were and seconds later a silhouette passed by the window; pausing uncertainly alongside the door. It was followed by a voice and then by another,

"Well who on earth could this be?"

"Do I look like I have x-ray vision you old fool? Open it and have a look."

"I just don't know who in the world it could be. There's a howling gale out there – ,"

"Well then, all the more reason to _not_ leave the poor sole standing gettin' frostbite. Oh move out of the way, I'll do it myself – ,"

"No, no June, you stand back. It might be some miscreant – now, where's that blasted gun – ,"

As Roman stiffened the door creaked open and a beady eye peered at him through the gap. For a second, neither of them said anything and then the voice spoke up again,

"Well, who are you? What do you want?"

Without the solid door to muffle his tones, it suddenly became clear that the speaker was an old man and a deeply suspicious one at that. Roman didn't blame him, after all how could he? Who expected visitors late at night in a storm? With the lingering threat of a gun however – and a probable shaky trigger finger to boot – Roman tried to best to look non-threatening, which at his impressive size was not easy to do.

"I'm sorry to bother you," his teeth chattered out and standing still only seemed to highlight the cold, "But our car spun off just down the road and – ,"

" _No_."

The word was spat out so quickly that Roman merely blinked at him, hoping he'd misheard. Surely he wasn't refusing to help them? Sucking in a deep breath, Roman persevered,

"Hold up a minute, you don't understand. My friend fell in the lake – he's in bad shape and I don't know how to help him – ,"

"I said _no_ ," the older man snapped again and then the barrel of a gun _did_ appear which made Roman instantly back up in alarm, "I know your game. You think that because we're old we don't keep our wits about us, huh?"

"No, that's not it at all – ,"

"Well go on, away with you – away do you hear?"

Although suddenly, before Roman could even _think_ of answer, there was a scuffle from somewhere behind the door and an alarmed sounding bark from the old-man turned inquisitor,

"Don't you dare June – June don't you _dare_ – ,"

Then, without warning, the door swung open and a slim, brown-haired lady was staring up at him,

"How bad?"

Roman blinked down at her in surprise,

"Excuse me?"

"Your friend," she asked quickly, "That fell in the lake. How bad is he?"

"I don't know – bad."

The woman peered up at him hard for a second and he gazed back down at her, not knowing what to do. His chest was heaving and he felt completely _powerless_. What did he do if the answer was still no? It wasn't like he could burst in and _demand_ help, which maybe he would have done if not for the gun. Wringing his hands together he took a deep breath and tried once last time,

"Look, _please_. I need your help."

For whatever reason, that seemed to do it and suddenly the little woman – June – was on the move. Stamping across the hallway she grabbed two thick coats up, slipping into one and throwing the other to the man,

"Harry, you go and get the car started up, I'll grab us the flashlight and some good thick blankets,"

The older man blinked across the space in confusion, the rifle hanging limply at his side. His mouth was opening and shutting like a guppy and his entire body screamed dissent. Clearing his throat, he puffed himself upright in preparation for what was obviously the lecture of his life,

" _Ahem_. June, it's coming down something fierce out there and we don't know – ,"

He didn't get far.

In fact no sooner had he opened his mouth than a hat was thrown at him, followed swiftly by some gloves. Snow-boots and a home-knitted scarf made up the rest of it and the little woman _tsk'd_ at him like she'd heard it all before,

"For goodness sakes Harry, stop wasting time. You heard him – I'm sorry, what was your name dear?"

"Roman,"

"You heard Roman. His friend is freezing to death on our doorstep and here you are not wanting to help. What kind of human being are you Harry Farmer? _Are_ you a man, or are you a mouse?"

As awkward as it was standing on their doorstep while the pair of them had a full-on domestic row, Roman couldn't help but smile just a little. He liked this woman. June Farmer was _badass_ and better than that, she was also on his side. Harry rolled his eyes and grumbled something vaguely and his wife's eyes instantly narrowed like a hawk,

"What was that?" she snapped at him sharply, watching him wind the scarf around his neck,

"I _said_ I'll go and start the blessed car up."

June nodded,

"That's the spirit, we'll be right behind you once we've grabbed a few supplies. Roman, come in dear and help me grab blankets and anything else your friend might need."

For a moment Roman simply stood in the doorway, staring after June's retreating form in a daze. Then Harry pushed past him still muttering darkly and brought him starkly back to life.

"I swear one of these days her damn hospitality is going to be the death of us both."

Roman stepped in tentatively across the threshold.

"Uh, ma'am?"

The warmth was incredible and it hit him like a tidal wave that thawed him in seconds and tore off the chill. He was standing in a spacious hallway, lit on both sides by kitsch-looking sconces that splashed down pools of bright orange light. A glow from a doorway betrayed the presence of a fire and the tempting smell of food hung thick in the air.

"Roman? This way dear."

He eventually found the diminutive battle-axe through a door to his left that lead off to the laundry. She was standing on her tiptoes in front of the dryer cupboard and struggling to drag something down from the shelves. He crossed the distance between them quickly and plucked the items from over her head.

"Whoa, hey. Here, let me."

The articles in question were a pile of thick bath towels, gloriously fluffy and magically hot. June stepped back and tapped him on the bicep,

"Goodness, aren't you helpful? Now, where's that flashlight? _Ah_ , I remember. Follow me."

Together they trampled towards a big kitchen, the décor in fantastic shades of seventies off-green. After opening and shutting a multitude of cupboards, June finally let loose a cry and produced a gigantic, million-watt flashlight like she'd just uncovered the Holy Grail.

"Ah- _ha_ , there you are you little devil,"

She added it without a word to Roman's growing pile and then almost instantly moved across the room. Once there she set about decanting the contents of a steaming little saucepan into a thermos flask, which she did while clucking her tongue in anguish and shaking her head as she screwed on the lid.

"So your car slid all the way down the bank then? Gracious it's a wonder you weren't all killed."

"No ma'am – ,"

"June,"

" _June_ ," Roman amended as she waltzed from the kitchen, pulling on her gloves. Outside he could hear the station wagon juddering as Harry punched the gas pedal and floored it into life, "Actually we're only just off the road,"

"Then how on earth did your friend fall in? Doesn't he realise how dangerous it is?"

"It wasn't his fault," Roman countered eagerly, "The guy we're travelling with – Ryback – he thought it would be funny to throw Dean's hat down there, or, I don't know."

June blinked from a chair beside the front door where she was banging her heels into a thick pair of boots,

"His name is what now?"

 _Ah. Right_.

"Ryback," Roman offered before following it up with the more helpful sidebar of, "Well Ryan technically. Ryback is the name he wrestles under."

The penny seemed to drop surprisingly quickly which spoke volumes for how sharp June Farmer still was. In less than a second she seemed to have moved past it – as if professional wrestlers dropped by every day.

"So what on earth did this Ryback feller have against your friend's hat, huh? Or is he just some sort of knuckle-dragging idiot?"

Roman's bark of laughter turned into a cough,

"You could say that. He didn't want to travel with us in the first place. He's been letting us know _all_ about it too, especially Dean."

"Hmm and let me guess? Your friend – Dean you said – goes down to get his hat, loses his footing and slides right in. Is that about the size of it?"

Roman nodded and blew out a breath.

"Yeah."

Zipping up her jacket with a flourish, June pulled on a fox fur hat. It looked as if it had been used during the gold rush and – for all Roman knew about her ancestry – it possibly had. Either way the aged firebrand was ready and sweeping the flashlight and the thermos back off him, she tapped his arm gently as she stepped towards the porch.

"Right, well, come along Roman and don't you worry none dear – I was a nurse for forty years. I'll see your friend comes out of this just fine."

He didn't doubt her.

The car was an elderly station wagon – which seemed to match with its owners just fine – with fantastically dated stained wooden door-panels and roof bars which looked impossibly well used. Taking care on the icy little porch steps and juggling his precious cargo of towels, Roman trod a path towards it and slid into place across the brown-plaid backseat. He could see Harry's eyes burning through him in the rear view, but focused on the swirling snow instead. As the warmth of the laundry-fresh towels thawed his thighs out, his thoughts quickly circled right back to his friend.

 _Hold on Dean, I'm coming with the cavalry._

Or perhaps more importantly.

 _Please be awake._

There was a blast of cold air as June jumped in after him. Her thin cheeks were flushed with a giddy sense of purpose and she slapped a thickly gloved hand on the dash,

"Come on Harry, don't sit here day-dreaming, there's folks in need out there don't cha' know?"

That produced another dry grumble but sure enough the car crunched into reverse and skated from the driveway in a single fluid motion that Roman hadn't expected it to. Again Harry's eyes found his out in the mirror and this time they were sharp with smug-looking pride,

"Lived out in these parts my whole life boy. Think I can't handle a little bit of ice?"

Roman said nothing but considered himself chastened, besides, as long as they were heading towards Dean he didn't really care what sass the man threw at him.

 _Get me there. Just get me there_.

The ride actually took a little longer than he'd thought it would – had he really walked that far? But then on their right a dark shape loomed through the snow-storm and Roman jolted forward with an enthusiastic point,

"There – right there, that's them."

Harry _tutted_ crossly, not welcoming the interjection or the evident affront to his sight,

"Think I'm blind boy? I can see it. Don't go getting all twitchy now."

Carefully he steered across the snow-covered highway and bumped up on the shoulder behind the stranded car. Roman was out before he'd even flipped the hazards on, trampling a clumsy path through the drift. His heart was pounding and the blood rushed through his system at such a rapid pace that it _swished_ between his ears. Skidding to a halt beside the ice-capped rental, he flung the back door wide and semi-dived in,

"Dean?"

The figure before him jumped at the entry and groggy blue eyes swung round towards his face. In his absence they had – _somehow_ – got him into some joggers and his feet were swathed in Roman's extra thick socks. Dean's body was still shaking and the teeth were still chattering but he was conscious, _sort of_ upright and wearing clothes that weren't soaked and in the overall scheme of things, Roman counted that a victory. The deceleration of Roman's frantic heartrate was akin to slamming head-first into a wall but as Dean grunted slightly in a vague attempt to right himself, Roman instinctively reached forward to help,

"Hey, I got you. How you feeling?"

"Cold an' sleepy," Dean mumbled back, his usually gruff tones had dropped several octaves but his lips were laced with a reassuring smile, "Bad comb'nation, right?"

"Oh I don't know, I've seen you worse."

"Liar, 'm perfect and you fuckin' know it,"

Roman chuckled. His heart was damn near _singing_ it was so relieved by the re-emergent spark,

"Well it's good to know your ego's still intact. Here, how about trying one of these on for size,"

Flapping out one of the still-warm bath towels, Roman draped it across Dean's upper body, tucking it in around his arms and layering another one over his legs. His best friend sank into the seat and let his eyes shut, at the same time releasing an orgasmic sounding moan,

" _Mmmm_."

Roman chuckled,

"Wow, that good, huh?"

There was a shuffle from the front seat and the leather squeaked fiercely as a bald-headed face poked in through the gap,

"Uh, hello, what about me? Do I get one of those? I'm freezing my ass off as well you know."

Roman's gaze darkened. Oh yeah, fucking _Ryback_. Instinctively the Big Dog shifted his position, blocking their bulky hitch-hiker's trajectory in case he tried to snatch one from Dean.

"They're for him," he growled instinctively, before letting his eyes shut and dragging in a breath. _Damn it_. Maybe he owed Ryback _something_. After all, he had done the two things he'd asked, "But, you know, thanks for keeping him awake and getting him changed man."

"I didn't do shit. Your boy did it himself – took a fucking _age_ though. Wouldn't let me touch him."

As Ryback batted the good will away again, Dean raised a brow above his closed eyelids and let the disdain seep in through his tone,

"Would you?"

Roman smiled wryly – he certainly wouldn't – but thankfully his answer was stifled by a _click_ and a sudden gust of wind blasting in from outside. As the door beside him flung wide open, Ryback jumped in the air and barked,

Hey, what the – ,"

June's head appeared somewhere by his elbow,

"Oh, excuse me. _Ah_ , you must be Ryan."

Ryback blinked back at her, utterly bewildered,

"Uh, yeah?"

"So _you're_ the one that threw away the hat?"

The hitch-hiker's gaze slid back and forth for a moment, framed beneath a near _eye-swallowing_ frown. The sharp little orbs were alternating wildly, in one second glued to the elderly newcomer and in the next on the broadly grinning Samoan. He was still just forming the words to reply when she chipped in again and prodded his thigh goadingly,

"Well, don't just stand there blinking at me dear, move aside and let the medical professional get to work. My husband's out back clearing away the worst of the snow, why don't you go and give him a hand _hmm_? Let the rest of us take care of things in here?"

"But – ,"

Roman let out a long low whistle,

"I wouldn't question her if I were you,"

The wind continued to howl in around them and as it struck Ryback's neck like cold fingers, the bulky wrestler actually _whined_ ,

"But it's _cold_ ,"

"Of course it's cold dear, it's snowing. Besides, a big feller like you will be alright – plenty of meat on you. Now come along sonny, get yourself moving. I don't want to be out here all night long."

Roman sat quietly, watching in amazement as Ryback clambered red-faced from his seat. June Farmer was so much _more_ than a badass, she was an actual god damn natural _force_ and the realisation made him chuckle.

Briefly anyway.

"Hey, _uce_?"

As Dean leant towards him Roman took the pressure, pillowing his best friend up against his chest and folding his arms in a circle around him.

"Yeah, you okay?"

Dean blinked,

"Who's _she_?"

"You like her, huh?"

"Think I'm in love,"

As Roman snorted and pulled him in closer, Ryback finally staggered free of his seat, cursing as his wholly inappropriate footwear sank into the snowdrift and dampened his toes.

"At last boy," June chided him briskly, "Took you long enough, now go on – go help."

Leaving their colleague standing glaring in the snow-storm, the elderly woman sprang up to take his place, placing her wares on the driver's seat beside her and slamming the door shut hard in his face. Sighing brightly she turned towards Roman and then cast down towards the figure in his arms. Instantly the harshness in her firm expression melted,

"So, this is the patient then? Well, hello dear, seems you're not having such a good night, hmm?"

Roman jiggled his best friend slightly,

"June, this is Dean – Dean, this is June. She and her husband are going to help get us out."

"Hey," Dean blinked, his tone still sluggish and reaching out June gave his arm a light squeeze,

"Now don't you worry my boy, we'll have you off the side of this road in a jiffy and then back at our house in front of a good fire. How does that sound?"

Dean nodded his gratitude at her weakly and eager to start her motherly ministrations, the elderly woman plucked up her thermos and busied herself unscrewing the cap. Aromas wafted out to hang like garlands and Roman could smell berries and spices in the air. June passed a small little cup in through the gap to them and held it by Dean's mouth as he struggled to grip,

"Here," she soothed, "Get this inside you. I made it myself – it'll warm the cockles of your heart."

It clearly warmed the cockles of his _something_ as one sip later, Dean let out a cough,

"Holy crap – 's fuckin' amazing."

Roman stiffened and looked up warily, gauging the senior's reaction to the cuss. Warm and totally unfussed eyes flickered back towards him and followed with a wink,

"I'm glad you like it dear – old family recipe. Now Roman, I think Dean and I are alright here. You'd better go and help my husband and that peeled gorilla. What was his name again?"

He and Dean chirped back in unison,

"Ryback."

" _Dick_."

As Roman rolled his eyes in amusement, June bit back a chuckle of her own,

"I wager it'll take both of you to push this thing out of here and like I said, I've not got all night. Go on dear. I promise I'll take care of him."

Roman was fully convinced that she would do and so propping Dean back up against the seat, he tucked the hot towels in closer around him and lowered a hand down onto his chest. The weary blue orbs slid round to meet his again and Roman pointed a finger in mock-warning,

"You behave yourself, you hear?"

"What?" Dean mumbled, going for innocent, "Can' help if th' ladies love me."

June chuckled,

"The blind ones maybe."

"Ouch," Dean blinked, "Fuckin' _hurt_ ,"

Roman batted him,

"Hey, stop cussing."

"M' not fuckin' cussing."

Dean let his eyes fold shut again wearily, the action not making his reply less grumpy. He sounded like a petulant child and despite all the drama, it was just so _Dean-like_ that Roman couldn't stop his smile. He glanced up at the little woman before them, his expression semi-teasing as he eased towards the door,

"Think you can handle his grumpy ass June?"

She grinned back gamely,

"Please, I can handle anything. This one'll be like _putty_ in my hands."

An interesting theory and chuckling mildly, Roman once again exited the car.

* * *

 **So, what do we make of June and Harry? I've got to admit I loved writing these two. Any thoughts? Any feelings? Just let me know. I love hearing what you're thinking.**

 **Until next week all!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Here we go folks. A day early. Aren't I good to you? Hope you enjoy it.**

 **Ilzehs, thank you for your review. I think we might be on the same ambreigns wavelength, except I'm very much a bromance girl. I had a little chuckle when you mentioned care bears though...you'll see why in this chapter (see, I told you we were on the same wavelength!)**

 **Ohana1337, I'm glad you like June and Harry. I think they come into their own in his chapter! They're modelled on a couple that used to live two doors down from me when I was little. They were amazing!**

 **Penelo14, I'm so glad you're reviewing lots and still enjoying it! That makes me happy! The good news is that Ryback is still being a big baby in this one as well! Will he ever learn (well, I wrote it and the answer is no!)**

* * *

 **4.**

Despite the fact that he'd done it several times now – stepping from the warmth back into the storm – the sudden shift in temperature didn't get any easier and it hit him like a sledgehammer right in the lungs. The snowfall didn't seem to have abated but the wind had died a little – _maybe_ – and so the flakes weren't quite so mad. They certainly weren't whipping into his eyes and blinding him which in many ways felt like a kind of reprieve. Snuggling right down into the folds his jacket, Roman followed Ryback's grudging path, skating uncertainly around the back of their rental and almost falling over Harry as he arrived.

"Watch yourself boy," the old man grunted, but it seemed to have lost just a hint of its edge and pushing himself upright and blowing a breath out, Harry shook the snow from his hands with a clap, "Well the good news is, ain't nothing broken – a push out of here is all it should take."

Roman nodded,

"That's perfect. What's the bad news?"

Harry leant in and beckoned him closer and Roman copied with a bemused looking frown. The older man wet his lips and glanced off sideways to where Ryback was half-heartedly kicking at the snow. Was he trying to clear it? What was he doing? Did _he_ even know?

"You're travelling with a jackass."

Roman blinked briefly and then snorted in amusement,

"Trust me, we know."

"Boy's an idiot too."

Suddenly Roman could see why June and Harry had ended up together and fighting down a bark of laughter he coughed and replied with a knowing little nod,

"Yes he is."

"Your friend okay?" Harry asked abruptly, fixing sharp eyes in his direction and making Roman pause in surprise. Clearly having met Ryback had changed the older man's views considerably and in comparison Roman didn't seem _half_ as bad. Maybe he would even have to owe Ryback for that one? Or maybe he wouldn't.

No, probably not.

"Well," Roman sucked in a breath, "He's awake and talking, so I guess that's a good thing and June seems to think he'll be fine, so – ,"

He ended the sentence with a semi-clueless shrug and Harry nodded confidently,

"Then in that case I'm sure he will be son. After all, I'm not in the habit of arguing with my wife, I mean, as much as anything I just haven't got the energy."

As Roman chuckled the older man smiled thinly and swiftly spun back towards their car. Peering down at the tires for a final time, he cleared his throat and nodded his head, the action drawing in a hovering Ryback as he gave them the assessment and his make-or-break plan.

"Right then fellers, I think that'll do her. I'll get in and punch the gas while you boys push – shouldn't take more'n a minute I reckon."

Ryback blinked,

"How come you get to drive?"

Roman reached out for him – frowning darkly – but Harry beat him to it with a withering glare,

"Because _son_ ," Harry emphasized with derision, "I've got a good forty years on you _and_ I've dragged my ass out of my warm house to come and lend you young pups a hand. Not to mention that the god damn pair of you look like prize-fighters. Do you want me to go on?"

Ryback said nothing, which was an answer in itself and Harry nodded briskly,

"Good – as I thought."

Then he turned and trudged off away from them, muttering something as he went. It sounded like _idiot_ and Roman smiled wryly, watching Ryback cock his bald head.

"What did he say?"

"Don't know, didn't hear him."

At the sound of the driver's side door slamming, Roman bent in and pressed his shoulder against the trunk, waving an airy hand at Ryback to copy him, which he did with some grumpy muttering of his own. The words _fucker_ and _moron_ crept through the blizzard, although whether aimed at him or Harry the big man didn't know. Luckily the sudden churn of the engine saved him from having to seriously think and he braced himself against the snowy bank sides and gritted his teeth,

"Ready?"

Ryback grunted in return, the noise cut off as the tires abruptly spun.

" _Go_."

Together they threw themselves bodily at the rental, straining with exertion as their feet scrabbled in the snow. For a second it seemed like they were making no progress and then suddenly, _suddenly_ , Roman's upright angle shifted and his feet started to get a little further from his arms.

 _Holy crap_.

It was _actually_ working.

Stepping forward he pushed a little harder and the rental responded by creeping along, the noise beneath the wheel-tread altering slightly as the rubber _finally_ found some firmer ground. Another two steps and it lurched away without warning and positively _burst_ back up onto the bank. As Harry stabbed the brakes it skidded slightly on the asphalt before coming to a stop with Roman running alongside.

" _Yes_ baby," he hollered – his grin an ear-to-ear one – and as Harry hopped out again, he flung his arms wide, "We did it man."

He slapped Harry roundly and although he staggered briefly, the older man cleared his throat and smiled,

"Yes, well, that's – I mean, well done back there. _Ahem_. But what am I saying? We can shout about it later, right now we need to get your friend inside."

Roman nodded and they all swiftly swapped places, with Harry and June scurrying back to their car. As she passed the older woman placed a hand on him and smiled in attempted reassurance,

"Follow us back. I'll set a bedroll up by the fire – bring him straight in. He'll be _fine_ , you hear?"

It sounded more like she was trying to convince him instead of actually meaning the words and as he clambered up behind the wheel, Roman glanced anxiously towards the backseat.

"Dean, how you doing babe?"

"Me? _F'ntastic_ , 'cept, Rom'n – ?"

"Yeah?"

"I can' get warm – m' so fuckin' cold – fuckin' _hurts_."

Roman reached round and laid a palm across Dean's kneecap, patting it gently,

"I know babe, I know. But we're almost there now. We're going to get you good and warm. Remember what June told you, huh? About that nice warm fire? That sounds good right?"

Dean didn't answer him, instead merely shivering and shutting his eyes to wallow in the pain. The sight of it made Roman's brow harden in anguish and he turned back and quickly flung the rental into drive. The sudden blast of air as the passenger door opened scared the living crap out of him and the feeling only trebled as a figure hopped inside.

 _Oh right_.

Once again he'd forgotten fucking Ryback and judging by the look on the scrunched up features, the bulky idiot – as Harry had called him – knew it too.

"Were you going to leave _without me_?"

"Nah," Roman lied, refusing to make eye contact, "Put your seatbelt on, this turn's gonna be tight."

He pressed the gas slowly and the snowy wheels spun a little, but ground themselves forward nevertheless. Seeing through the white-out was virtually impossible but Roman decided to take his chances and steadily punted the car across both lanes. For a second he was worried the back would step out on him but – barring a wobble – it thankfully never did.

"Wait," Ryback frowned, grip tight around the door handle, "Why the fuck are we turning around?"

"We're going back to Harry and June's,"

" _Those two_? But they're strangers – ,"

"Who've offered up their home. Besides, do you _not_ get that Dean is god damn frozen? We need to get him somewhere warm. If you want to walk into town be my guest – I'll happily drop you off right here, right now."

"Why you gotta be so pissy with me man?" Ryback huffed back at him petulantly, "I was only asking a fucking question – which I wouldn't know seeing as I don't get any say."

Roman's grip tightened – _un-fucking-believable_ – but he pushed down his anger to focus instead. Up ahead he could just about make out the dual red dots of Harry and June's rear lights. It was taking the bulk of his attention to just track them and arguing with Ryback was one thing he _didn't_ need. In fact it was how the whole mess had got started and so he simply kept silent and gritted his teeth.

Sadly, Ryback didn't follow his example,

"Like a fucking third wheel over here, man. Think I wanted to be ridin' with you two? Grabbed the last fucking car is all. Never again I'm tellin' you, _never_."

Which was _fine_ by Roman and he growled his assent as Harry and June's car turned right and bounced off the highway onto their drive. Roman slowed down a little, not wanting to crash into them and leant across the dash like it would somehow clear the snow. Then suddenly Harry loomed out of the whiteness with his hands held upright and Roman punched at the brakes. Going against his earlier advice – which wasn't a surprise – Ryback had remained defiantly unbuckled and the sudden jerk slid him straight off the seat and into the foot space with a startled sounding grumble.

" _Hey_ ,"

Roman ignored him and threw the rental into park, flinging his door wide as June scuttled past them, shouting over her shoulder as she went,

"I'll get the fire stoked up again. Bring him into the Great Room – first door on the right,"

By the time Roman skidded around to the back, Dean's eyes had drifted shut again, although the sudden blast of iciness shook him into wakefulness and he peered up at his best friend through still-damp bangs,

"W's happ'ning?"

"What I promised babe, we're gettin' you warm – just need to get you out of the car."

"No shoes," Dean mumbled and Roman blinked down at him, belatedly remembering the ski-sock-clad feet. There was no point in putting Dean's shoes back on him – not when they were still dripping wet – and in the end there only seemed one option.

Roman pulled him upright,

"I got you, come on."

Manoeuvring Dean to the edge of the vehicle, Roman braced him in an unsteady sit. The snow was whipping in closely around them and instinctively Dean's shivering stepped up a pace. He was trying to be helpful – Roman could see it – but his limbs were so numb they wouldn't move on command and in the end it was as much as he could manage to not topple out of the car and onto the ground. Reaching in around him, Roman seized up the hat and pulled it down fondly across the curly mop.

"You ready to go?"

Glancing up to meet Roman's eyes, Dean nodded and managed a _barely-there_ smile.

"Uh huh, all good."

He didn't ask _what for_ and evidently he didn't need to because as Roman ducked into a half-squat before him, Dean folded forward and landed right across his back. Roman's arms wound round Dean's lower body and then hefted him high to rest over his shoulders. It was something they had often done back in the _Shield_ days when Dean had been hit by one of eight dozen finishers and they were busy making a cowardly retreat. Roman would hoist him up over his shoulders and carry him off like a newly-shot deer. It had suited their brotherhood and their then-heelish natures but since they had turned face they hadn't really used it. In the middle of a blizzard seemed as good a time as any though and turning slowly, Roman moved up the drive.

Harry was standing by the porch watching quietly and although Roman braced himself for some sort of mocking, the old man simply nodded his head,

"I'll bring your bags in – me and the other one. Where is that idiot anyhow?" he squinted, "Is he in the damn _footwell_?"

Roman snorted but chose not to answer, pouring his focus into the ice on the porch. He slipped on the third step but leant into the wobble and managed to regain his balance without a fall. With Dean lying helpless across the back of his shoulders a tumble would have been a disaster for them both and as he hit the last rung safely he positively _launched_ off and staggered through the door.

Again the warmth of the house hit him bodily and the sense of simply _being there_ – not to mention having Dean somewhere safe – was an almost physically crushing relief.

"You feel that babe?" he murmured deeply, "Didn't I promise you a whole lot of heat?"

The shivers were tremoring down through his shoulder blades as Dean's entire body shook and cursing under his breath at the vibrations, Roman – as instructed – took the first door on the right. It lead into a comfortable, well-proportioned sitting room, clad – like the rest of it – in warm-hued woods. The floorboards were covered by a thick patterned rug that looked about as old as its owners and was starting to badly fray around the edge. In the corner of the room there was an art-deco lamp on, but the bulk of the light was being thrown out by the fire and as a result the room looked primeval, with flickering shadows dancing on the walls. It was cosy though – _hella_ cosy – and homely and well-loved and a multitude of things. For Roman, it was a little like stepping into his grandparents' house, not that his grandparents had lived in a cabin but in that everything in it could have been theirs. There were lacy doilies, house-plants, knick-knacks and the general spoils of living for some seventy odd years. It cast an air of peacefulness across him and as he gazed around dazedly, June looked up from the couch.

"Goodness," she blinked, "Bring him over here now, I've made a little bed up,"

She patted at the cushions. The couch was one of those old-fashioned ones in faded floral covers but its position in front of the fire was prime and crossing the room with his shoulders newly aching, he straightened and let Dean slide back to his feet.

"Come on babe, easy now."

"M'okay," Dean mumbled, but he wobbled a little and Roman braced him by the arm, backing him up until his ankles hit the couch legs and letting him flop back onto the seat. It bounced a little underneath him – obviously a very _well-loved_ couch – and Dean grunted mildly in startled amusement but as the warmth of the fire and the comfort enveloped him, he shut his tired eyes and let out a moan,

" _Mmmm_ ,"

Roman chuckled,

"There's that noise again. Feels pretty good, huh?"

"You h've _no_ idea."

Flopping back against the cushions, Dean let Roman lift and swing round his legs, towing him until he was lying fully stretched out and his muscles were sighing.

It felt _so_ good.

June had covered the couch seats with a blanket and the sheepskin moulded to his shape like a velvety glove. As something thick encased his body, he opened an eye – not even having realised they were shut. June was pulling a coverlet over him, a thick one that sunk in around him like a vacuum and fought to chase off the bitter gnawing chill. He shook again suddenly – or maybe it was a constant thing – and Roman reached over to brush the bangs beneath his hat. He was like that – Roman – surprisingly tactile, which Dean supposed came from having a kid. Despite his size and his strength and _reputation_ , the Big Dog was comfortable being kind of soft. Calling him _babe_ was a perfect example and another one was stroking his best friend's hair.

Dean snorted wearily, his words sounding drunken,

"Fuckin' care bear."

Roman shook his head at him but didn't stop stroking, running a broad thumb over his forehead,

"Well someone's gotta take care of you."

"Ryback not offerin'?"

Roman's expression clouded over but there was an unmistakable hint of amusement mixed in too, as if, now that they were someplace safe, his tightly coiled mood could afford to unwind.

Just a little.

"He ain't offerin' nothing'cept his ass for my damn foot."

"Never heard that language in the Care Bears."

"Right, because _you_ watched the Care Bears,"

"Hey man," Dean mumbled, arching his back a little and settling himself down into the covers. The impulse to sleep was washing back over him, but this time it didn't seem nearly so sinister, "I had a sister and a late growth spurt, okay? We watched whatever she wanted to watch."

"Is that your way of telling me you had a favourite?"

"If I did would you think less of me?"

"Probably."

"Then no."

From somewhere behind them June chuckled softly and draped a final blanket over Dean. The heat in the room had settled somewhere between furnace and centre-of-the-earth's-molten-core, but despite that Dean still continued to shiver and as another tremor wracked him, Roman looked up at her. He didn't need to ask the question, June already knew what it was,

"He'll be fine," she whispered gently, patting her hand against the bigger man's shoulder, "Shouldn't take long to warm up now but the poor boy's had one hell of a shock – his body's going to need a bit of time to catch up. Let him sleep it off."

"That's – that's okay?"

"Now that he's somewhere warm it is."

As Dean's eyes flickered shut again, he put out a hand and prodded Roman's stomach lightly,

"Go get some 'a that punch man, 's _awesome_."

June smiled,

"An excellent suggestion, you've not tasted anything until you've had some home brew,"

Roman stood but hovered momentarily, gazing down at Dean with conflicted eyes,

"You'll be alright here?"

" _Mmhm_ ," Dean mumbled, rolling himself over and drawing his legs up to curl into a ball, "Roarin' fire, covers, no more snowstorm – what more could a guy ask for, y'know?"

He sounded groggy and exhausted but for the first time he also sounded _content_ and as he ducked his chin down under the blankets – until only the brow of his head jutted out – Roman nodded and smiled down fondly,

"Don't go anywhere."

"Where'd I go?"

 _Knowing you uce_?

Roman snorted and then followed June from the scorching hot room. They were just in time to witness Ryback's arrival as he staggered into the orange-lit hallway, panting and followed by a shower of snow.

" _God damn weather_ ," he bellowed crossly, dumping a handful of luggage to the ground, "It's a fucking joke – I swear it's _got_ to be."

June's brow tightened,

"Hey, watch the language you."

It didn't seem to matter that she'd let Dean get away with it – she liked Dean anyway, that much was clear – Ryback wasn't getting _any_ sort of leeway and she stared at him pointedly until he looked down at the floor.

" _Fine_."

"Not an apology," June sighed ruefully, "But I guess we can consider it a very shaky start. Come on now – both of you – let's get you warmed up. There's a pan of punch in the kitchen with your names on it, or, at least your _wrestling names_."

Ryback turned and followed her obediently – a little like a chastened child – but Roman chose to stay in place by the doorway, listening to the careful tread of feet in the snow. Seconds later, Harry appeared and as he stepped into the hallway, his glasses steamed up.

" _Blast it_."

Roman hurried to make himself useful, pushing the thick front door shut behind him and then freeing the geriatric of the vast array of bags. Whereas Ryback had carried maybe three of them – and those had probably been his own – Harry was laden like an absolute work horse and wilting a little, not to mention puffing too. As Roman eased the straps from his fingers and created a pile to one side of the hall, the elderly man stretched out his shoulders and blew a swift breath out,

"That's better, thank you son. I should have known that other idiot would be useless. Where is his shiftless ass anyhow?"

Roman bit back a smile,

"In the kitchen. June's getting him some punch."

"Oh, of course," Harry rolled his eyes sardonically, "Damn fool nearly kills me and _she_ goes and thanks him. How's your friend getting on by the way?"

"Better," Roman nodded his head, "Much better. He's sleeping it off in front of the fire."

"Good, good – always the best way. I'm sure he'll be back to normal come morning. Now, come on, let's get ourselves in that kitchen, before that ninny of yours drinks all the damn punch."

He put an arm around Roman's shoulders and the move was so abruptly paternal that the wrestler couldn't help but laugh. Not half an hour earlier the older man had been loading his rifle and trying to blow him away, now there they were sloping into the kitchen arm in arm like an old pair of friends. As the swing door rocked behind them with a creak of its hinges, June looked up from the stove and smiled,

"There you two are, sit down boys, I'll pour you both a cup."

Sliding into a seat at the table, Roman's eyes flickered over at Ryback, who was nose-deep in a punch glass and either blissfully unaware of him or else too grumpy to acknowledge his arrival. The latter he assumed, given previous experience and even though he should have expected it, the snub still annoyed him for more reason than one.

"Dean's fine by the way," he snipped out sharply, brown eyes burning a hole through the head, "He's sleeping it off in front of the fire – real nice of you to ask after him by the way."

"There's a fire?" Ryback answered with interest and Harry snorted bitterly,

"Not for you there damn well ain't."

"Boys," June chided gently, setting down two steaming cups of brew and lightly squeezing Harry on the shoulder. Given Dean's rave reviews about the punch, Roman was keen to join in the tasting and found that – luckily – the reports were all true. June's concoction tasted _amazing_ with not only the fruit and the alcohol flavours but a kick of cloves and cinnamon as well. It hit his belly like some strange internal heater and suddenly he was positively _glowing_ with warmth. Seeing his expression, Harry shunted him with an elbow,

"Good right? My June makes it like nobody else."

The woman in question blushed a little and flapped a tea-towel in his direction,

"Oh, now – you old sweet talker."

Roman watched their fond bickering with a smile. He didn't know how long they'd been married, but he guessed that it had to have been for quite a while and it turned his thoughts towards his own marriage and his ever-patient wife back home. He could only hope in forty years, the pair of them were half as happy and surrounded by the Farmers' familial chatter, he felt himself start to fully relax. Then Ryback's gruff tones cut in through the merriment and killed it completely and utterly dead,

"Hey, you think you can rustle up some dinner?"

Roman kicked him beneath the table, _hard_. Had Ryback even _met_ people before? It was like he was an alien – Dean would have loved _that_ reference – and had no idea about demanding food in other folk's homes. Seeing the wince on his face however, June stowed her instinctively sharp retort and instead managed to smile back somewhat thinly,

"I'm sure I've got something that I can heat up for you. Roman dear, are you hungry?"

"Oh no – I mean, _thank you_ – but we don't want you to go to any trouble."

His use of the word _we_ was pretty telling but despite the heavy emphasis, Ryback didn't get it,

"But I'm – ,"

Roman kicked him again, even harder and the bald-headed man yelped loudly and grabbed his shin. Did he really not get it? What did he _think_ was happening? That Roman had a twitch in his foot and was booting him by accident? Fortunately – and once again sensing the tension – June simply shrugged and moved off to inspect the fridge.

"It's no trouble dear, I promise. In fact I'm downright ashamed for not having asked earlier. You poor fellers must be half starved. You don't mind leftovers?"

"Not at all."

"It's traditional beef goulash – not that I have Hungarian ancestry mind you, but it does very well in the slow cooker you see,"

As she was talking she was taking down a pot, stowed on one of the shelves in the fridge. Within seconds it was simmering on the stove beside the punch bowl and seconds after _that_ there were new scents in the air. Roman's stomach growled in painful anticipation. He didn't even realise how hungry he'd been there had been so much adrenaline running hot through his system. In the end, when the food was placed down in front of him, it was all he could do not to fall face-first into it. Fortunately, he resisted – Ryback didn't, he ate like a god damn pig at a trough – but _holy crap_ it was absolutely incredible and wholesome and filling and orgasmic all at once. June stood watching them, grinning broadly and occasionally passing by to top up their bowls. For close to ten minutes, no one said anything until finally Roman sat back with a sigh,

"June, that was amazing. Thank you."

She blushed a little and waved an airy hand,

"It was nothing dear, I'm glad you liked it."

"Best I've ever tasted."

"Oh shush," she chuckled, "You're as bad as that silver-tongued friend of yours."

She certainly wasn't talking about Ryback and to further make that point clear, she gestured with her tea-towel in the direction of the Great Room.

Roman grinned.

 _Silver-tongued_ was certainly one way of describing Dean, along with a whole host of other adjectives that would still quite never do him credit. In the comfortable silence a contentment settled over him and he leant back in the chair and stretched out his arms. Through the window the snowfall was starting to lessen and a clock chimed somewhere.

Ten o'clock.

Roman sat up again, a sudden thought seizing him,

"Do you have a landline I could use?"

There was practically a list as long as his arm of people he supposed he should update on their progress – or lack thereof – including his wife. Harry gestured out absently into the hallway, still chasing round the last flakes of his stew,

"Knock yourself out boy,"

Roman smiled and nodded _thank you's_ and then stood up and padded out towards the hall.

Away from the stove the temperature dropped markedly and he was grateful for the goulash keeping him warm. He found the landline without any trouble, perched up on a little wicker stool and keeping trend with the rest of the cabin by being a bright yellow rotary dial. It made Roman smile. It actually suited them, although putting in each number took him forever as he slowly ticked off each name on the list. His wife – top priority – Dean's girlfriend straight after and then an assortment of agents and wrestlers who'd been wondering why they were no-shows at the hotel. Once he'd reassured them all – Dean's girlfriend especially, feeling useless all the way back home in Vegas and who had actually _gasped_ as he'd related their tale – he put in a final call to Hunter just to touch base with the guy who ran the show.

" _We're fine – he's fine. We'll be there tomorrow."_

If he said it once, he'd said it eight million times and when eventually he was able to drop back the receiver, he felt like someone had punched him clean in the ear. It actually _throbbed_ and that wasn't a good thing. Still, it was done, all their bases were covered and as he pushed back into the kitchen he felt almost free. Two faces looked back up at him, one was absent and as Roman realised who was missing, his brows drew closer.

 _Crap._

"Where's Ryback at?"

June chuckled back at him. She was doing some knitting, a half-finished scarf draped over her knees,

"I put him in the guest room. He's having a hot shower and then he informs us he's going to bed."

"I suggested we move his mattress into the garden but June didn't seem on board with my plan," Harry put in laconically as he studied his newspaper and Roman grinned down at him.

"I can think of worse than that."

"Oh you boys," June tutted fondly, shaking her head between knit-one, purl-one ad infinitum, "He may be a little, well, _difficult_ let's say, but despite his gruff exterior – ,"

"By which she means rude."

" _Despite his gruff exterior_ – I think he's quite shaken, so I don't think it's fair to be wholly unkind. Besides, if he's up there, we don't have to listen to him and I find that suits me just fine."

She had a point and Roman nodded his acceptance and settled back into his chair with a sigh. Harry glanced up at him,

"Got your calls sorted?"

"Yep, all good. Although Dean is going to need to phone his girlfriend first thing tomorrow. I mean, I think I managed to convince her that he was just about okay, but she's pretty worried."

"Oh, the poor dear," June tutted in sympathy, "I'm not surprised, it must be miserable for her being so far away from her man. So tell me, have you known Dean long?"

From behind his newspaper, Harry let out a titter and followed it up with a shake of his head,

"Uh-oh boy, here comes the prying. The Gestapo had nothing on my June."

"Oh hush up you, we're merely having a conversation. Go on Roman dear, don't mind him – he thinks I ask too many questions. I, on the other hand, think he doesn't ask _enough_. Now, what were you going to say before we were _rudely_ interrupted, hmm?"

Harry _harrumphed_ and flapped his papers but Roman could hear the grin beneath the sheets and coughed hard to keep the amusement from his answer as the earnest little lady gazed into his face,

"Uh, it's been over five years now. Dean and I were in developmental together – by which I mean, we were in the same training programme. So, we knew each other but we didn't really _know each_ other, if you get what I mean? We didn't work together much. Anyway, I guess the powers that be saw something in us and put us together in a faction – uh – a _group_. We became pretty tight, pretty fast after that. I mean, we kinda _had to_ since we were working together but luckily we just _clicked_ beyond that as well. He's family to me now. Always and forever."

June nodded, smiling softly,

"Well that's lovely to hear, really it is. I mean, not that I've know either one of you for long but you certainly have a wonderful relationship. The second you turned up on our front doorstep, I could see how much you cared – that's what made me want to help."

"I'm glad you did."

June smiled,

"So am I."

For a moment the pair of them sat in silence and then Harry coughed awkwardly and turned a noisy page. Clearly he was feeling some sort of guilt about it and smiling slyly, June nodded her head,

"Even if old, _shoot-first-ask-questions-later_ there, wanted to put a hole in your head."

"Forgive me for trying to defend the homestead," Harry responded, somewhat hurt, "Next time I'll let the villains in instead. Maybe I'll put a sign outside, _miscreants welcome by invite of my wife_."

"Now Roman," June continued swiftly, as easily as if Harry hadn't spoken at all, "What did I hear you calling Dean earlier? It was something I'd never heard before – _yoos_?"

"You mean _uce_?"

"That's it! Now what on earth does it mean?"

"Well, I'm Samoan and in our culture it means _brother_. So between us I guess it's become – well, it's just something we call each other. Kinda like a nickname, I guess."

"I see," June nodded, testing it curiously, " _Uce_ – _uce_. You know what? I like it. Seems very fitting. But tell me something else, are you married and do you have children?"

Harry murmured something under his breath – it sounded like _Jesus, Mary and Joseph_ – but June ignored him. Her eyes didn't even flicker across and Roman bit down on his bottom lip to stop from laughing. The pair of them really needed their own show. Maybe he could schedule a meeting with Vince and pitch it to him? Bring them down?

"Uh, yes – yes I am. I'm married and I have a daughter."

"Oh how lovely! Harry, isn't that nice dear?"

" _Mmhmm_."

June tutted,

"Don't mind him. The pair of us never had any children and he thinks if I talk about them, it'll somehow make me sad. Well it won't, we made our choice – we made it together and although I think we'd have made good parents, I wouldn't change the years we had. We've had some adventures let me tell you – we've travelled the world, seen it, done it, bought the t-shirt. So there's no harm in me asking after someone else's kids."

Roman wasn't quite sure who was she talking to, but the intermittent rising and falling of her tone signalled that it was probably her husband wrapped in the guise of talking to _him_. Sensing his mild confusion however, June reached across and tapped him on the hand,

"Not to worry dear, this is how we are – we bicker like an old married couple because we are one. Besides, it's not like we're all alone in this world. We've got family, and nephews, nieces and neighbours. We've got a great deal more than a lot of other folk. Now, do you want another helping of punch? Or I've got a gateaux in the fridge – I didn't want to mention that in front of your colleague. I thought he'd probably finish the lot."

As he smiled at her warmly a sleepy yawn washed over him and although he tried to cover it one-handed – the other one was still being gently squeezed in hers – the movement didn't go unnoticed and abruptly June was all business again,

"Gracious me! Of course my dear. You must be _exhausted_. Right, I'll go and set up the second guest room. Don't worry, I won't make you bunk with _the_ _other one_."

"Uh actually," Roman countered as she stood from the table and _wow_ , she really was a force of nature, "If it's alright, I'd rather throw down with Dean. You know, just in case – well, in case of whatever. I don't need nothin' special, just a pillow and a blanket. If you can spare those, I'd be real grateful."

"Oh I think we can stretch to that," she winked, before pulling him to his feet by the elbow, "But first you go and get yourself washed now – guest bathroom's the third door on the right. I'll get a bed set up in the Great Room and I'll pour you a little more of that punch."

Roman opened his mouth to argue and sensing it, Harry whistled and shook his head,

"Don't bother boy. Best to just let her fuss round you. Otherwise you'll only be wasting your breath."

"In that case, thank you," he answered, moving towards her to pull her into a one-armed embrace. Leaning over, he pecked at her temple, planting a kiss within the tight rolls of grey hair. June tittered and slapped his chest lightly and Harry coughed and rustled his papers again.

"As for you – you ornery porcupine," Roman grinned, sauntering over towards the doorway and giving him a jovial thump to the back, "Thank you for not shooting me when you had the chance."

Harry grumbled gruffly but he was fighting a smile down,

"That was a one-time deal for tonight. Can't make any promises for tomorrow."

"Well if you change your mind, could you at least start with Ryback?"

"Oh that's one a _whole_ 'nother story completely. He might not even last the night."

* * *

 **Okay, so only one more chapter now (I think, depending on how I break it up). Hope you're still enjoying our bromantic little romp!**

 **See you next time!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Okay, so here we go, our last little chapter (only it isn't little, it's kinda long!)**

 **Courtney, thank you for your lovely reviews. Hope you like this final bit! *crosses fingers***

 **Ohana1337 (Sophia) I know, they make such cute best friends! Hopefully this chapter has a few laughs as well.**

 **Penelo14 If you thought Ryback needed some retribution for his rudeness, then I think you'll like what happens in this! It was kind of bittersweet ending this story, but you're right, it had to happen eventually!**

 **Happy reading everyone and thanks for coming with me on this bromantic ramble! Here we go.**

* * *

 **5.**

With June's chiding still ringing in his ears and the sound of Harry's gruff, slightly cruel laughter, Roman collected his bag from the hallway and let himself smiling into the bathroom.

Like everything else the décor was throwback, this time in tones of avocado and beige but hell, like the phone, it suited its owners and it had hot running water, so he could live with the clash. Changing out of his snow-moistened clothes felt totally amazing – like he was physically _shedding_ the chaos of the night – and by the time he stepped back out of the bathroom, he was changed and washed and feeling almost himself.

June was coming towards him down the hall with an armful of blankets and a pillow braced on top. Roman sped up and opened the door to the Great Room for her and the heat that billowed out of it nearly knocked him from his socks.

 _Holy hell_.

June didn't seem to notice the inferno though and instead bustled past him to a spot on the floor.

She'd chosen a patch of threadbare carpet that was stationed right in front of the couch Dean was on and naturally – despite Roman's insistence on _no trouble_ – the little woman had gone to town. On the floor there was an under-layer comprised of sheepskin blankets and thick double coverlet over the top. Despite its proportions – it had to be King sized – June had somehow folded it in half to make a kind of blanket burrito that Roman would be able to slide himself inside. She had also provided a whole _nest_ of pillows and if it weren't for the fact that he and Dean were grown men, the whole thing could almost have been a teenage slumber party.

Neither of them were braiding _anyone's_ hair.

As the elderly hostess continued to fuss around him, Roman dropped onto the couch arm and watched. His gaze drifted down to what he could see of Dean's features and it was instantly calming to see his best friend asleep. In the firelight his face was flushed a shade of bright pink and Roman absently tested the heat – once a parent, always a parent – by laying the back of his palm across Dean's cheek. It wasn't just warm, it was positively _roasting_ and as June plumped the final pillow, Roman tugged the hat off Dean's head. It sent his hair in several directions and produced an incoherent little moan, but other that, his best friend remained slumbering and the utter contentment made Roman grin. When he looked up again, June was standing quietly, gazing fondly across at them both.

"Bed's all made up. I won't put any more logs on the fire – it's like a furnace in here as it is. I take it he's warming up pretty nicely?"

Roman nodded,

"He is. Thank you June – you and Harry – from the bottom of my heart, I mean it. _Thank you_."

In the half-light of the glowing fire, Roman couldn't see if she was blushing or not, but from the way she crossed the space towards him and squeezed him on the arm, he guessed that she was.

"Don't mention it," she whispered softly, brushing a hand across Dean's hair, "Just sleep tight the both of you. I'll see you in the morning. Bacon sound good?"

"Bacon sounds excellent. Dean loves it."

"Then I'll make sure to put on a few extra strips," she paused in the doorway, her eyes glinting warmly, "Good night dear."

"Good night June."

She clicked the door shut quietly behind her and the room abruptly fell silent once more. Well, sort of silent, since the crackle of the fire and Dean's steady breathing produced a comforting background song. If Dean had been awake he'd have given it lyrics, since random singing was kind of his thing. Roman imagined him rhyming _frozen_ with _toe-zen_ and the thought made him snort and glance over at his friend.

Dean was fine – it was becoming his mantra – and as another yawn threatened to claim him for its own, Roman stepped into the snug little bedroll and lowered himself down onto the ground. Given that it had been laid on floorboards – the kitsch and flimsy rug didn't count – Roman was expecting an uncomfortable mattress, but again June Farmer had come out triumphant and instead he sunk into a veritable haven that was at once both soft and supportive as well.

" _Ohhh_ yeah."

Suddenly he understood Dean's earlier orgasmic groaning as his weary bones practically screamed out relief. Dropping himself down onto one elbow, he pounded the pillow a couple of times and then collapsed heavily into the feathers, making sure his body was pointed at Dean. If, on the vague chance, he woke up in the darkness – confused or disoriented, not knowing where he was – Roman wanted to be right there beside him and the same applied in case anything went wrong. He knew that Dean would probably be fine and would laugh himself silly at all of the fuss, but at the same time he had _fallen through the ice_ and until the other man was up and chatting normally, Roman was reluctant to move far from his side.

"Night you lunatic," Roman murmured fondly and his eyes crept shut. _Holy crap_ it felt good. Within seconds he could feel a dark shroud passing over him, like his senses were being covered as he fell towards sleep. It was deep and inviting and he didn't try fighting it.

Within a minute, Roman Reigns was asleep.

Although in honesty, it felt like he'd only fucking _blinked_ , with the exception that when he re-opened his eyes, it was to a natural brightness that lit the whole room up and highlighted the fact that the fire was nearly out. Not only that but he was somehow turned _towards_ it and at once his senses were on full alert. A smell wafted over him, warm and familiar and it was joined at his ear by a gruff, sing-song voice,

"Wakey wakey Sleeping Beauty, there's a side of bacon over here with your name on it."

Roman rubbed at his eyes with a groan,

"Dean?"

"The one and only,"

"How did you – wait, wha's happening?"

"Whoa, you alright uce? You sound kinda _out_. Maybe I should just eat this for you."

"Don't you dare," Roman grumbled back, struggling upright onto an elbow and trying to order his newly jumbled thoughts. The last thing he remembered was closing his eyes – had he really slept right through the night? It didn't seem possible but he damn sure wasn't dreaming.

Was he?

Seeing the abject confusion on the features, Dean extended a cup of coffee beneath his chin and waggled his eyebrows in cheeky familiarity,

"Strong and hot – how I like my women. Oh and eight o'clock by the way."

Roman blinked up at him across the brim of the beverege. Dean was right, it was ridiculously strong.

"What?"

"The time," he clarified a little more slowly, "It's eight o'clock in the morning right now. Are you _sure_ you're okay uce?"

"Shouldn't Ibe asking _you_ that?"

Dean grinned winningly and plucked at his sweatshirt. It was same one he'd been wearing the night before, the one he'd been wearing when he'd decided to go swimming only suddenly it looked as good as new.

"June," he offered brightly, "Freshly washed and laundered. She makes a pretty mean breakfast too – here, try it. I got you extra bacon."

He passed the plate towards Roman's hands, exchanging it for the half-drained cup of coffee which he placed on the lip of the smouldering fire.

"Good huh?"

"Fantastic," Roman answered with his mouth full and Dean grinned widely, simply pleased to have given back.

He was aware of everything Roman had done for him – the bits he couldn't remember, June had filled in – and he was keen to make up for it and pay his brother back somehow.

Bacon was the start of that gradual process, an amazingly _good_ start but there was still a way to go.

Roman had, after all, _saved his life_ and not just by plucking him out of the water but by walking through a fucking _snowstorm_ for help. Then there was the whole watching-over-him-while-he-sleptthing, which in anyone else might have been weird. But in Roman it was just part of his protectiveness, an extension of his general _big_ _brother_ vibe. When Dean had opened his eyes in the darkness and wondered where the hell he was, the sight of Roman slumbering alongside him had instantly stilled his fast beating heart. If Roman was there, then they were obviously alright and he'd closed his eyes and drifted straight back off.

Letting Roman sleep in late that morning had also been intentional on Dean's part and judging from the spark of brightness in the brown eyes, it had been the right decision.

So far Dean was two for two.

"Hey,"

At the sound of Roman's voice, still muffled by the bacon, Dean glanced up towards him,

"What?"

"You need to phone – ,"

"Already did uce. Although I'm pretty sure she's going to kick my ass when I get home. She was crying and everything – it was actually kind of brutal. I scared the shit out of everyone I guess."

"Yeah," Roman nodded, shovelling in the rest of his breakfast meat like he'd recently undertaken some sort of fast, "You did."

"Sorry."

"Not your fault."

Roman's response was pretty simple because as far as he was concerned that's how it was. Dean falling into the frozen lake was _not_ his fault it was Mother Nature's or – more accurately – _Ryback's_ fucking fault and as his thoughts swung back to their bald passenger, Roman's frown fired angry and hot.

"You see him this morning?"

"Who? You mean Ryback?"

Dean was straight on it like he was working on telepathy and the effortlessness of it made Roman realize he'd missed it, not to mention how close he'd come to losing it for good. It was a thought that made his fists clench tightly and he closed his eyes to catch his breath,

"Yeah. _Him._ "

"Sitting in the kitchen eating just about everything. I'm serious. You're lucky you even got this. I left as he was starting on a great big fancy cake thing – _cake_ at eight in the morning man."

Dean sounded caught between disgust and amazement with a vague hint of admiration thrown into the mix. Roman snorted. So much for June's gateaux, he'd probably polished off the goulash too. Another thought came to him and he glanced up squinting as the freshly laid snowfall made the morning glare bright.

"He ask how you were?"

Dean snorted,

"You kidding? He barely looked up – like I wasn't fuckin' there."

Reaching over Dean took the empty plate back and went to stand up. Roman's hand caught his sleeve,

"Hey,"

"What's up Big Guy? You okay?"

Instantly Dean's brow furrowed in worry, drawing in his features beneath the off-blonde bangs and although they were scruffy from the blend of damp and fire-heat, there was something comforting about the frizz too. The whole damn thing was just so _Dean_ and he was there and _okay_ and after what they had been through, that in itself was just a massive relief. Realising that he was still clinging onto Dean's sleeve however – and probably coming off totally weird – Roman released it and managed a half smile,

"Yeah, I am. At least, I am _now_."

And fortunately it seemed Dean was still working on telepathy, because without the need for any explanation, he leant in closer and cupped Roman's head, pulling him in until their foreheads were touching and grinning like the idiot he totally was,

"Thanks for saving my ass out there brother _."_

Roman's arms encircled his back automatically and they hugged very briefly,

"Anytime uce _,_ anytime."

Then Dean rocked back onto his heels again chuckling and collected up the empty plate and mug.

"You might want to think about getting up and dressed though, because I'm pretty sure if you don't get moving, _Chunk_ out there is going to bleed this place dry."

 _The Goonies_ reference wasn't lost on Roman and he snorted as Dean backed his way through the door, tongue poking out in shit-eating amusement and with a devilish twinkle bright in his eyes. Clearly he was in the mood for some more Ryback baiting and the thought spurred Roman quickly on. After all, the last thing Harry and June needed were two bulky wrestlers scrapping across the kitchen floor.

At some point during his extended slumber, June had clearly been in to tidy up, because Dean's cosy bedroll had been whipped away completely and the couch was sitting quietly like it had never been used. Surely he couldn't have been _that_ out of it? When in the hell had she done that? The answer as it turned out was quite simply _whenever_ because wandering back from the bathroom minutes later, he realised that his own little nest had gone. It briefly made him wonder if he hadn't mislabelled her, so quiet and conscientious was her every last move. June Farmer was _not_ a force of nature, instead she was some sort of Canadian _hummingbird_.

Steeling himself, Roman pushed into the kitchen and was met by three smiling faces and Ryback who – _yep_ , sure enough – was cheek-deep in gateaux. Was it possible to drown face-first in whipped cream?

" _There_ you are dear," June beamed brightly and Harry even grunted over his broadsheet, which might as well have been a hug, "Sleep well?"

"Like a baby."

"A two-hundred fifty pound one," Dean grinned broadly, nudging June with an elbow, "Makes your eyes water just _thinking_ 'bout it doesn't it?"

As Roman threw his brown orbs skywards and tried his best to look unimpressed – _so_ fucking good to have him back again – June let out a dirty sounding cackle, stopping only to slap Dean lightly on the arm,

"Oh you are _terrible_ ," she tutted before winking and _holy gods_ they were flirting like kids, "But don't stop mind, you've found my level."

Harry groaned loudly and glanced over at Roman,

"You want to take her with you when you go?"

"Only if you take _him_ ," he pointed at Ryback and Harry shook his head,

" _Hmm,_ sorry son, no deal. If those are my options I think I'm better off sticking with my June – even if she does only have eyes for this one."

As he spoke he gestured at Dean with a corner of the _World News_ section of his paper, watching as the man in question beamed back broadly, which in turn drew a correspondingly wry grin.

In response all Roman could really do was marvel at the winning charm of his incomparable best friend. How long had any of them even been _up_ for and yet already they were both in the palm of Dean's hand. He was also clearly loving the attention and he puffed his chest out in mock-indignation at the grumbled complaint,

"Hey, don't blame me Grandpa, I can't help being gorgeous."

Despite the fact he'd called Harry _Grandpa_ , the wink he threw in afterwards took out the bite and despite himself the geriatric chuckled and looked up at Roman with a glint in his eyes,

"I can see why you keep this one around. _That_ one not so much, but this one – I get it."

As Ryback's name was again dragged through the mud, their unwelcome hitch-hiker finally clued into it and blinked as if emerging from a coma, or else a plate of decimated cake.

"What's going on? Are you talking about me? Think you can rustle up some more of that stew?"

"Seriously?" Dean pinged back at him sharply, "You're _still_ not full? You've practically had a three course meal. This some sort of dry-run for _Man verses Food_ or do you got a tip-off about a famine the rest of us don't know about?"

Harry cackled loudly,

" _Hoho_ , I definitely like him."

It didn't much help the simmering tension and as Ryback's eyelids narrowed in contempt, Roman took a deep breath and stepped in smoothly,

"Look, I'm sorry to break up this little party but we actually need to get going anyway. I mean, I said we'd meet at the others at the hotel sometime in the morning, so, you know…"

By way of finishing he jerked a thumb across his shoulder in the universally accepted gesture of _let's go_. Besides, he wasn't totally lying. He really _had_ promised their colleagues and agents that the three of them would be there come the morning and – okay – so maybe he hadn't meant quite so early but they needed to save at least _some_ of June's food.

"Oh no," the woman in question pouted, eyes tearing rapidly, "Don't tell me you're leaving already? So soon? Why, you've barely had any breakfast."

Dean snorted wryly,

"Some of us have, I mean, _some_ of us have practically had lunch and dinner but – ,"

"I'm sure we'll be fine," Roman stressed quickly, throwing a glance at Dean.

 _Not now_.

If June noticed the look however then she decided not to mention it, instead standing up and tapping Roman's arm,

"I'll put a bag of supplies together,"

"They're going into town June," Harry grunted flatly, "Not taking the antitoxin to Nome."

" _Shush_ you," she tutted, pulling things from cupboards and breaking out a brand new roll of saran wrap. Despite the fact that Roman had been worried about the elderly couple surviving the winter, it seemed that June had been holding back a little as all sorts of edible goods were produced. These ranged from meats and homemade preserves to a golden looking loaf cake with brown sugar on the top. She finished it off with a flask of her special punch and tucked it all neatly into a bag, "There, hopefully that will keep you going."

"Yeah," Dean grinned, "For like a _month_ or – you know – maybe five minutes given who we're travelin' with here, y'know?"

He didn't need to point for them to know he meant Ryback but he did it regardless and make the bald man grunt,

" _Ambrose_ – ,"

"Uh-uh," Dean held up a finger and waggled it childishly from side-to-side, "Come on, be nice. I mean – after all – you _did_ nearly get me killed me last night, remember? The least you can do is let me pick you apart a little bit."

In response, Ryback turned a shade of deep purple that Dean would have placed between violet and plum. His fists clenched tightly as he thumped them on the tabletop making the crockery rattle and rock,

"I did _not_ – ugh, this is fucking _crazy_. You fucking _fell_ _in_ you fucking dick,"

As Harry slammed down his newspaper fiercely, all four of them jumped visibly and spun his way,

"That's it boy," he bellowed in fury, his own face changing colour but staying solid in angry red, "I've had just about enough you and your _attitude_ – ordering my wife around, eating all our damn food. At first I just thought you were damn rude because you didn't know us – which I _might_ have even understood. But you're even damned rude to your _colleagues_ as well. You used all the hot water in that shower of yours last night and I've not heard one _thank you_ since you stepped through that door. Now I've held my tongue on account of my wife here, but hearing you speak like that – that's the last straw. You boy, Rylack or whatever the hell your name is, take your crap and get out of my house."

"Harry – ,"

"No June, I'm sorry, but this needs saying. I'm not kidding around boy. Get out of my house."

For a full five seconds Ryback – or _Rylack_ as Dean was going to refer to him from that moment on – simply sat open-mouthed and strangely unmoving, blinking across at the puce little man. He looked towards Roman and Dean in confusion and his face said everything.

 _Is this guy for real?_

Dean shook his head and then gazed towards the doorway,

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's your cue dude."

Roman tossed him the keys with a jingle, hoping to spark some movement in turn. After all, Harry still had his rifle and he was probably close to trying to use it again.

"Go warm it up, we'll be out in a second."

Ryback blinked at him,

"But – ,"

" _Go warm it up_."

Reluctantly the bulky man stood from the table, preceded by a veritable _cascade_ of gateaux crumbs. He looked like a child who'd been given a scolding and in many ways, that's exactly what he was. It was almost like Harry had sent him up to his bedroom, or into the corner to _think about_ _what he'd done_. In reality however, it was a fully grown wrestler being evicted by an elderly man and they watched him silently as he crossed the tan linoleum, his eyes barely lifting from the gaudy throwback floor. He paused – briefly – with one hand on the swing-door and took in June with a hesitant glance,

"Thanks I guess," he grumbled, "For all the – everything."

"Any time dear," she smiled back, looking earnest, "You take care of yourself now, you hear?"

Ryback slipped out without thanking Harry, possibly because he was too indignant but mostly – Dean figured – because he was actually too _scared_. It wasn't a thought he put words to however, until they heard the door slam and the car engine start.

"You ever thought about taking up wrestling Harry? I mean, the moves might take a tiny bit of work but the whole trash-talking thing? I'm telling you man, _easy_. You've already got that part _down_."

As quickly as the bad mood had taken control of him, Harry's good side was back in force again and he grinned up at Dean with a cheerful expression and a genuine _you think_ kind of brightness to his tone,

"Aren't I too old for skin-tight clothing? Besides, it would mean I had to travel with _him_."

"Yeah, but only if you're really unlucky, or you killed someone in a past life or something."

"Hmm," Harry nodded slowly, thinking, "In that case I'll probably just stay here with my June."

"That's what you think," Roman grinned broadly, slipping an arm around the elderly woman's waistline and towing her closer, "She's comin' with us."

Dean was in on the joke in a second and _yep_ , there it was again, best friend ESP.

"She told us last night she wants to be our valet. Says life just ain't exciting enough for her in these parts. Don't worry though, I mean, we'll take real good care of her, make sure she knows what to do and looks the part. I was thinkin' knee-high boots and maybe some hot pants. How do you feel about dying your hair pink?"

"Oh you two boys," June blushed with a giggle, "I swear you'll be the death of me."

The mood was interrupted by the sound of the horn blasting, not once but four times in a rapid little row. They could practically _hear_ Ryback grumbling and swearing and Dean groaned loudly and rolled his eyes,

"Ride's here,"

"I'm sorry," Roman sighed gently, pulling June closer and sounding reluctant, "We really gotta go."

"I know dear, I know. But I wish you didn't have to."

Together they slid from the cosy little kitchen, the swing door creaking in protest as well. Dean had already shouldered their supply bag and was keeping it closely tucked under one arm. He didn't doubt that given the opportunity, Ryback would end up face-first in the thing and so he'd already decided that it was staying safely with him. Ryback's invariable starvation be damned.

Fortunately the one thing Ryback _had_ done was load their belongings into the car and so as they came to a standstill in the hallway, the only thing left to do was hug it out.

"June, babe," Dean flung his arms wide, "Get in here,"

The little old lady didn't hesitate and gladly walked right into his sweatshirt before letting him fold his arms tight around her and rock her gently side-to-side,

"Thank you," he whispered into the top of her tight perm and she squeezed a little tighter,

"You don't need to thank me dear, I just did what was right, as I should have done. Besides, I already got my karma paid back in kind, what with you and your friend here being _such_ good looking ones."

She raised her voice towards the end of the sentence playfully, making sure that both Harry and Roman could hear. Dean shrugged roguishly,

"What can I say darlin'? I'm naturally beautiful. Not like him," he pointed at Roman, "You know he's had a _ton_ of work."

As Roman rolled his eyes in long-suffering, Dean let go of a very reluctant June. Moving across the hall he extended a hand to Harry, making it as manly as his emotions would let him go,

"Thanks for giving up your fire for me last night _and_ for driving out in the storm. Might not be here if you hadn't come and got me. I owe you, _both_ of you, more'n you'll ever know."

"Wasn't my call and to be quite frank son, I would have shot the lot of you on sight," Harry's reply was typically dismissive, but he took Dean's hand and shook it fiercely all the same, continuing to cling on long after the formalities and holding Dean in place until his speech was all done, "That's a mighty good friend you got over there – he's the one that saved your life. I'm just the poor old grumpy codger that never could say no to his gal. Glad I didn't though. You take care boy."

The older man stepped back and coughed somewhat awkwardly as Roman and June finished up with their hug. Dean watched him, smiling. That sly old devil, pretending not to care when it was obvious he did. He was still busy grinning as June crossed towards him and pushed a piece of paper into his palm,

"What's this, the bill?"

She batted him lightly,

"Oh you and your jokes. It's our number, in case – you know – ," June trailed off again and was she _embarrassed_? Roman was clutching their details too and sensing her sudden lack of assurance, he put an arm around her,

"We'd love to keep in contact."

"And when we're next up this way for a show? You two are gettin' front row seats."

June's face lit up on both counts,

"Oh my goodness, that sounds exciting."

Dean winked,

"You have _no_ idea."

"Promise me you'll beat up that one out there and I'll bring a homemade banner as well," Harry grunted sharply, leant against the doorframe with his arms crossed casually over his chest, "Oh and one more thing, if the police find his body in a couple months when the snow thaws out, June and I won't say a word."

" _Harry_ ," June hissed and slapped him in the ribs just hard enough to make him start to wheeze. Roman and Dean exchanged amused glances and then the damn horn blasted again.

" _Alright_ ," Dean yelled from the doorway testily, before turning back and rolling his eyes, " _Geez_."

"Now we _really_ got to go."

The two of them stepped back across the threshold at a snail's pace, as if somehow looking for a way to change their minds. There was something safe and homely about the Farmers, something that was warm and loving as well. It was a feeling that especially resonated with Dean. After all, he'd never had a proper, cuddly grandmother and June was like a taste of something he'd skipped.

Although it had stopped snowing hours ago, the wind still felt bitterly fresh across their cheeks and as they trampled down the porch steps reluctantly, both Dean and Roman zipped up their coats. Harry and June came out onto the steps behind them and stood hand in hand, sadly waving them away.

"Fuck, it's enough to break your heart isn't it?" Dean grumbled quietly as they skirted round their car. Roman waved back at them,

"Yeah but, we'll keep in touch man. I mean at this point they're practically your godparents anyway."

"That's nice," Dean chirped, "Never had one of those before."

Roman blinked back at him.

 _Okay, wow_.

Sometimes it was easy to forget Dean's crappy childhood but at other times it was simply too hard to ignore. Crossing over to get to the driver's side, Roman reached out and ruffled Dean's hair, massaging the scalp for a second in fondness with the comforting press of the pad of his thumb,

"You good?"

"I'm good," Dean replied easily, "I'm always good uce, you know that. _Except_ for when there's a Ryback in my damn seat messing around with the fucking air vents."

The last part of the sentence was said a little louder and timed just as he was opening the door. In response, Ryback glared at him, but actually, to his credit – not to mention Dean's surprise – he snapped his belt off and moved into the backseat without so much as a muttered curse word. Dean and Roman exchanged amazed glances.

Maybe things were on the up.

Reversing from the driveway was a delicate manoeuvre but Roman managed to take it like a pro, swinging them backwards onto the asphalt and pausing just long enough to wave a last goodbye. June was wiping away tears with a handkerchief and Roman grimaced.

 _Like a knife to the heart_.

By the time he stuck their rental into drive again, Harry had an arm wrapped tightly around her waist and as Roman pumped the gas pedal solidly, the adorable couple slowly slid from sight. For a second it felt like he was holding his breath in and it wasn't until they rounded the corner that he sighed. Dean glanced over at him, his blue eyes appraising,

"Are _you_ alright?"

"Compared to _last_ night? Yeah, I am."

And for the first time in two days Roman actually meant it. They were fine – _Dean_ was fine – and they were back on the road again. They were moving forward both literally and physically. So what was there to be unhappy about?

Then suddenly a head stuck through from the backseat and sniffed very loudly,

"Hey, is that food?"

"Holy crap man, what are you? A bloodhound?"

As Ryback and Dean's bickering started in earnest, Roman settled himself down in his seat. Around them the world lay white and unbroken and a sense of tranquillity lay over the scene. It was lulling and it was comforting, despite all the yelling.

"Seriously, you're like Trusty,"

" _Who_?"

"Lady and the Tramp? Come on, you know? He chases the dog catcher."

Roman snorted,

"Give it up Dean."

"No way has anyone _not_ seen that film."

A sign passed by them – _Next Town: 5 Miles_.

Yeah, they were going to be absolutely fine.

* * *

 **So there you have it, our little bromance story is all done and dusted. I hope you all enjoyed. I never really had much of a mission with this one. I just had the idea, started writing and voila! Anyway, again thanks to all my reviewers and now that it's finished, I'd love to know what you think.**

 **TTFN.**


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